


She Who is Stormcrowned

by HartAndHorns



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Banter, Be nice to your healers, Damn Thalmor, Developing Relationship, Dragon-like behavior, Ego Stroking, Elder Scrolls Lore, Eventual fluff and smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Height Differences, Look at it, Main story line, Mostly lore compliant, OP mage, Romance, Slow Burn, Wilderness Survival, fluffy bullshit, fucking up everything in sight, it's got anxiety, life-debt companions to enemies to friends to lovers, mild PTSD, no beta we die like men, you fucked up a perfectly good swordsman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:36:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 57,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20673215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartAndHorns/pseuds/HartAndHorns
Summary: Destiny is a funny thing. It's less funny when you're the last of your kind, and it applies to the both of you."Did you ever think it'd be like this? That'd we'd turn out to be the ones holding the fate of Nirn in our hands?""No," he admitted."Neither did I. But I'm not going down without a fight. This... our world is a little messed up, a little crooked. But as long as I'm living and breathing?"An inhale, an exhale. The shimmer of the aurora played across her face, reflected in her eyes."This world is mine. I'm not letting anything take it away from me."Note: Not dead. Just an essential worker. Chapter 20 still in progress.





	1. Wild Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. I'm a *complete* fucking dumbass and managed to delete the entire previous work by the same name on accident. Don't ask me how. I don't know either. 
> 
> Once again, alternate start.
> 
> Comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated. I can't improve as a writer without feedback.

There was no light in this place. He didn't know how long it'd been that way. Minutes, hours?

Days...?

There were no voices in this place. They left some time ago, heedless of the ones they left behind. 

The only sounds were those of water trickling in through the cracks in the walls. Through the half consciousness, he realized the water was rising. Quickly, too quickly, and if he didn't fight to get out of here, this would be the end for him. So he strained, pulling against the shackles on the wall, kicking his feet against the stones, shaking, grasping for leverage, anything _anything_ to get him out of there. 

The water was at his torso now. His wrist, bloodied, from ceaselessly trying to rip himself from his bonds. He was too weak, too starved to have the strength. The chill didn't help either. It seeped in his bones, and soon he shivered, teeth clenched together to keep them from chattering. 

When it rose to his neck, he tipped his head back and prayed. 

To Arkay that his death was swift, Mara to ease his suffering. To Stendarr, to be merciful in his judgement. Kynareth, let him see the sky one last time. 

Panic set in when the rising tide choked him by surprise, foul water flooding his mouth and clouding his lungs. Straining again, he forced his head above the water, gulping down mouthfuls of stale air, kicking again at the water to stay afloat. It was not long before the water rose above him. 

He fought, he realized. He did everything in his power, in his current state, trying to survive. Talos preserve him, he hoped his deeds in life were enough to grant him honor into the Halls of Valor. And now he sat there, dying slowly, breath seeping from the corners of his mouth. So he closed his eyes. 

And waited. 

His heart slowed, chest burning with the effort of keeping death at bay. Everything hurt, hurt, hurt, until something inside of him broke, sucking in water, panic rising rapidly in his chest. Eyes fluttering open, vision paled, then faded. 

Until it wasn't. There was a light then, blurred and muffled in the water, shining still with flickers of color. It cast itself upon the iron bars of the cell, upon the cold stone floors. 

He felt hands on his neck, gentle touches that were far away and urgent. The light brought with it the image of a woman, hair floating about her in a copper-gold halo. Why did she not meet his gaze, he wondered. When he realized then his hands were free, the man did not struggle. Surely, this image was here to accompany him into the next? Weight settled against his sternum. Reaching to touch at it, the burning of his lungs lessened, fading into nothingness. 

Again hands settled against his skin, on either side of his face, the faint blue glow of magicka thrumming along his skin. There was peace before the darkness settled in. 

But not before he met the gaze of wild eyes. 


	2. Woman in the Water

"Amalia... how did you get yourself stuck with this?" It was self lament, in a way. She'd meant to be on her way to Whiterun in the next few days, but instead she found herself in the company of an unconscious swordsman. Not that she minded. He was pleasant enough to look at. It'd been nearly three days since she dragged him from that prison, and very nearly got herself crushed in the rubble for it. And lucky, so very lucky she was to have had a spare amulet of water-breathing with her. 

Her foot nudged a lumpy, wrapped up pile that she sat next to, carefully concealing armor that she'd also fished from the crumbling building. Vaguely it looked like plate armor, but the material was heavier and smoother. Apart from the twin tiger heads carved in the chest-plate, that is. She'd found herself running her fingers across the etching many times in admiration. 

Sighing, she continued to mutter to herself. "Have a heart, Amalia. Save drowning warriors from prisons, Amalia." Throwing her hands up in frustration, she kicked a pebble into the small pit fire that burned nearby. "He's not even a Nord! Or a Breton! Or an _Imperial__!_ Woman, what in the bloody fuck were you thinking!" 

Though more than anything, she was tired. True, they'd been there for nearly three days, but it'd taken a lot of magicka and a lot of patience to keep him breathing. Oblivion's sake, it'd taken nearly all her strength to drag him here. He was a full head taller, and at _least_ twice her weight in muscle. To put it plainly, it was no easy task. 

But there was a reward to it: the relief that flooded through her when he'd managed to vomit up the water he'd taken in, the joy when his breaths remained steady throughout the night. The mage had exhausted most of her magicka potions, the one thing she was a little bitter and sore about. They were a pain to reliably restock the further away from a city she was. 

It was enough that he was alive, she figured, and reached for elves ear in her pouch, chewing on the partly dried leaf. 

How he was alive is what baffled her. Amalia froze in shock when she'd turned him on his side, open wounds on his back having begun to fester from lack of treatment. 

They were lashes, over and over again, criss-crossed in a bizarre, horrifying pattern that made her stomach turn. How long had he been through this torture? What did he do to deserve this? 

The passing days were frantic enough trying to keep him alive. But she relished the calmness now, the steady crackle of a fire keeping her company while the sun hung low in the sky. So she sat, pulled out her journal, and waited for him to wake. 

**________________________________________________________**

It was the smell of roasting meat that woke him. His immediate thoughts went to the prospect of being in Sovengarde, until he realize that he _ached_ all over, joints and muscles stiff from disuse. He mourned for the fact that the woman who'd appeared before him wasn't in fact a herald from Sovengarde, but perhaps... The man sat up too quickly, rolling off the makeshift bed he'd been resting on to hit the ground with a heavy thud. 

He wasn't dead.

Shor's balls, _he wasn't dead. _

Too quickly he tried to stand. The ground swayed under him, his stomach rolling with the objective to rid itself of any contents, only succeeding in having him spit bile on the leaf littered ground. Long moments passed before he was able to even lift his head, carefully leaning back on his knees and exhaling noisily through his nose. His vision cleared eventually, allowing him to observe his surroundings. 

It was... a modest sized camp, he noted. An established one. The moss that had grown against the ring of rocks around the firepit were slowly withering away with the intense heat, logs stacked high to provide a campfire that would burn through the night and into the next morning, and stocked with two cooking pots that seemed to have contents within. There were bare patches where tents had been settled down before, but he spotted none now. A canopy was stretched between a group of trees, the oiled leather to do well in keeping the rain out, one side dropping down to provide relief from the wind. Instead of a bedroll, a hammock was hung up between two of the trees beneath the canopy, patched up in a few places that indicated frequent use. His own resting spot consisted of stripped branches lashed together with twine, furs and thick pelts thrown atop to lesson the strain of an otherwise uncomfortable bed. 

However, the oddest sight of the camp was his host. Or, hostess, for that matter. She was propped against a fallen log, warming her feet by the steady flames, her head craned back against the old tree. On her lap lay an open journal, notes written in a steady, looping script that looked like they belonged to a scholar. A page was empty save for a sketch there, which he recognized to be the tattoo that covered half of his face. Underneath that, a charcoal rubbing, but too faint to make out in the dying light. 

Her chest rose and fell in a rhythmic pattern, unhurried. By this and the lack of a reaction from him earlier flailing, it was safe to assume that she was fast asleep. Though, he was more concerned about the matter that his sword was tucked against her side, one knee propped up to keep it from sliding from her grasp. That, and the fact that the entirety of her was surrounded by a rather large and rather deadly lightning ward. 

A mage then. He wasn't going to attempt to get close. 

So he sat back on his elbows and wondered how much trouble he'd get into if he slipped some food from the cooking pots. 

**________________________________________________________**

Amalia groaned at the sounds of rain hitting the canopy above her, half-expecting to look up and see the fire having long gone out. She sat up, the sword in her arms clacking in its scabbard, relishing the relief of cracking vertebra settling back into their expected spaces. Extended magicka use took a toll on her body that she was never particularly pleased with, the nagging feeling of emptiness and a light-headed sensation that lulled her into sleep. 

More than anything, she was annoyed with herself for falling asleep in such an open situation, despite the safeguards she placed around the camp. Her hood had fallen out of place in her slumber, so she swept her hands under the fabric, simultaneously pushing it away from her face and smoothing back her hair. Bleary eyes clearing, the mage froze when she found another set of eyes watching her from the other side of the fire. 

Her sleep addled brain took a number of seconds to catch up with her. Surging to her feet, she scrambled towards the man, startling him by the way he dropped the bone he was carving into, fingers tightening around the hilt of the small hunting knife. Holding her hands out in front of her, Amalia stopped her advance and settled to drop to one knee.

The subtle blue glow of magicka flared to light in both palms, a calming spell to de-escalate the situation if her charge were to suddenly put up arms. When neither moved, words tumbled from lips unabashed, tripping over each other to settle their thoughts first.

"You're--"

"--the woman in the water," he breathed.

"--finally awake." Blinking, the woman lowered her hands, eyeing the other cautiously. "You were conscious when I found you? I knew you were alive, barely, but..." Amalia forced a breath through her nose, rocking back on her heels to regard him. "You've been out of sorts for three full days now. Are you... is everything feeling functional?" 

When he didn't answer her right away, the mage cocked her head to the side. "Will you tell me your name? And seeing as you've helped yourself to the rabbit I had roasting _and _kept the fire going, I'd like to ask you some questions as well." 

Truthfully, if what she said was true, the woman posed no immediate threat to him, despite the obvious display of power that still shimmered on the ground a few meters away. So he cleared his throat, fingers fiddling with the knife that was still in his hands. "Kaidan. My name is Kaidan. You're the one who found me?" 

She looked pleased that she finally got an answer. Standing, the woman crossed the camp towards the hammock that hung between the trees, leaning back to rest there with her arms crossed. "Aye, that'd be me. How'd you get yourself into a situation like that anyway?" 

"Thalmor." 

Amalia frowned. She hated Thalmor. And she learned to hide herself away when their robes came marching down the road. More than once they'd stopped her in her travels, drilling her with useless questions about suspected Talos worship, trying to chip away at the hardened mask she'd forced on to protect herself. They were always unsatisfied when she didn't give them the answers they wanted, but never let enough slip that she'd be a suspect herself. So she understood the dark look that crossed his face when he spoke. 

"Right. If you'd allow me, I'd like to check to see how your wounds are healing while you tell me what happened for you to get yourself thrown in that prison. Thalmor taking prisoners isn't exactly a new thing, but you seem... like a special case." 

When Kaidan nodded, the mage pushed up the sleeves of her robes and got to work. 


	3. Snowberries

"So you're trying to find out more about the sword, and the Thalmor thought you'd have the answers to questions you're already asking?"

Kaidan had insisted that he was well enough to move, and it took several tries of convincing before Amalia begrudgingly agreed for them to pack up camp and keep moving down the road. They were lucky, at least, that the weather was pleasant on this day, their paths easy to traverse.

Nodding, the man kept in easy pace with her. "It was my mother's sword. I never knew her, but it's my only clue to finding out who she was." True enough, Amalia was curious about the sword he carried. She'd spent a long while studying the blade while he slept, fingers tracing over the runes rather carefully. Of course, she wouldn't tell him that she'd made a charcoal rubbing of it in her journal to study later, as he seemed to be fiercely protective of what could provide him answers.

Their walk was quiet for the most part. If he didn't want to talk about himself, she was perfectly okay with that. There was no need to pry.

It had surprised her greatly when he swore a life-debt to her. Logically, she couldn't bring herself to think that he was in any way indebted to her. Healing was just part of what she did. On the other hand, pulling someone from the wreckage of a drowning prison isn't exactly an everyday thing, and having a capable warrior by her side would be useful with the seemingly endless amount of bandits and wildlife on the road.

When she'd tentatively accepted his offer, Amalia gave a crooked little smile at how bloody relived he looked. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"...You're a mage?"

The question brought her out of her thoughts, and she nodded under her hood. "Aye. A healer."

"Sure, because a healer lays down lightning runes on a regular basis."

Amalia frowned at that, stopping in the middle of the road. "Do you have something against mages?"

He stopped too, leveling his gaze with hers. Distracted momentarily, she missed the first half of his words. "...you seen what hagravens do to their captives?"

"Hagravens are witches, unbound by the laws of... anything normal. They were human once, but sought unnatural power that turned them into beasts. Magic is used for good too! Healing, protection. A sword is simply a weapon."

"A sword then is honest in its purpose. No trickery, no illusion. Not when it's cold steel at your throat."

"And since when have I tried to trick you? I don't practice illusion magic in the first place, and I've healed your wounds." Throwing her hands up in frustration, Amalia turned to stalk back down the road. "Agree to disagree, but don't be a pain about it, yea?"

She missed the way his expression hardened, watching her back while she wandered off. "If you say so."

**_____________________________________________________________**

They still had a day an a half of walking when he'd suggested they'd stop for the night. Amalia blinked when she looked up from the book she carried. The air was understandably tense after their short lived spat, so she'd pulled out a copy of _The Cake and the Diamond_ and shoved her nose right in. They'd been walking for hours, she realized, and the sun hung lower in the sky than she expected.

So they paused, setting up their camp south of Valtheim Towers. It was blessedly empty, relatively fresh blood spilled on the ground there, and she figured the bandits of the area were feuding again. They'd stopped her a few times, demanding gold. Of course, it surprised them when she offered healing services instead. In the very least, she was glad a many good amount of bandit groups in this area let her pass unscathed. Still, despite the emptiness of the landscape, Amalia got to work warding the surrounding area, a perimeter alarm to keep them well informed in case of hungry wildlife.

Kaidan didn't sit there like a bump on a log, which she was grateful for. She'd unrolled her pack, setting her small tent aside to set up in a few minutes, coming back to find it already erected, her bedroll laid out, the spare furs she had laid out on the outside of the tent and a ring of rocks already set up for a fire.

Amused, she tilted her head to regard him. She was going to make a snide comment regarding the matter of being a mage, but decided against it. He was going to have to trust her if they wanted to work well together. Curiously, her eyes flickered over his form, considering the other scars that she'd borne witness to. What kind of life did he lead that lead him to have such marks littered across his skin? Not an easy one, she knew, not one of luxury.

It didn't matter. She would ask questions, but she could not (and would not) force him to divulge secrets that he did not want to share.

Amalia rifled through her dropped pack, muttering quietly to herself as she did so, going so far as to shove her entire arm in before finding what she was looking for. Producing an apple and a wrapped pack of jerky from her bag, the mage flicked a pebble at Kaidan to get his attention.

His face was annoyed when he turn towards her, but that didn't put her off.

"A peace offering, yea? We have different ways of life. Mine just happens to involve magic. We'll have to get to know each another a little more if we want to work together." Tossing the apple from one hand to the next, she smirked crookedly. "Oh, but of course, being angry at each other isn't going to help that one bit."

When the offered wasn't refused, Amalia tossed the food in his lap. "So, what brought you to Skyrim?"

"Shouldn't we be building a fire?"

"I'ven't got any meat to cook, or potatoes to boil, if that's what you're asking."

"I could go hunting," he retorted.

"And do what with the extra meat? We're still far enough away from the city that it'll either rot or attract wolves and bears."

Shit. She had a point. Kaidan had been trying to effectively avoid the question. It didn't work, when she called his name, puzzled by a lack of an answer. 

"I've spent a long time wandering, and this is where my feet just happened to lead me." He finally admitted. 

Another quiet moment. She was pondering that answer. "Surely there's more to it than that?"

Kaidan sighed. There was no way he would be able to skirt by not answering. "Aye, isn't there always? In truth, I've come back to Skyrim to learn something of my heritage, my bloodline. The few clues I had pointed me here, but it takes time to decode. I'd been paying my way by collecting bounties, but I suppose I'd drawn too much attention to myself."

There was that puzzled look again, the head tilt that vaguely reminded him of a curious cat. Amalia's voice was careful as she spoke. "But... you don't... really look like a Nord?"

He couldn't stop the short laugh that erupted from him at the ridiculous question.  "Well, aren't you the observant one? I was raised by a Nord, and as one, but no. That Atmoran ice does not run in my veins. I can't be certain what does."

A rock skittered past him on the ground. Laughing, she rolled another pebble between her fingers, flicking it in his direction. “You don’t have to be a smartass about it. I’m just not sure if I’ve ever seen someone with eyes the color of snowberries.”

Kaidan reared his head. He’d not heard that kind of comparison before. “Snowberries?” He echoed. “I’ve had them compared to blood, or a red dawn. But, snowberries? Really?”

“Don’t sound so offended. ‘S not everyday I give my good graces in the form of compliments."

Waving his hand idly, the man scooted back to settle into the furs he'd laid out, reaching to unbuckle the chestplate of his armor. Amalia turned her head away respectfully, reaching for her own sharing of food in her bag.

"What, can't stand to watch me undress? And here I thought you were handing out your good graces." Kaidan chuckled to himself, sliding his gauntlets off, with greaves shortly following. 

Amalia snorted loudly. "It's considered bad luck. For a healer, at least. If a warrior is still able to take off his armor without assistance, you let them. If they aren't, then you should always have another person with you to help. People have died because healers have gone into shock once they see the extent of the injury. They freeze up, they get scared, and they make mistakes. And call me selfish or whatever you like, but this is why I don't treat battle wounds. I can't." 

There was another heavy silence that passed through the camp. Kaidan regarded her carefully under the hood she wore. Her expression was distant, and had he not been paying attention, he would have missed the shaky sigh that escaped her. 

"The worse I've had to mend was a broken hand, twisted up after the poor lad got it caught under a mill-wheel. Child lost the use of his hand after that, but I can't fix bones that are no longer there. So I suppose you've been the only exception." She paused, shredding up a piece of bread in her lap. "There were a few times that I thought you weren't going to make it through the night. There was water in your lungs, but not from the prison, no. This was hours after, when I'd gotten you to my camp. Grand Healers call it 'second drowning', something about the way a body tries to recover after almost drowning initially. So, the thought of losing someone is upsetting, but to actually lose them when you're the only chance that they'll live? It's... not the easiest experience to bear." 

That was more of a confession that he ever thought he was going to hear from this woman. Realistically, there were struggles that all walks of life experienced, from the farmer to a Jarl. There was risk involved in everything. Kaidan had come so close to dying, not just in the prison, but even after. There was difficulty wrapping his head around it, admittedly. He'd had his fair share of close calls in fights, but this...? 

A heavy feeling of dread settled in his chest. Who was he to argue with her about the use of magic? 

So even long after she'd turned in to sleep, Kaidan watched the western horizon, his gaze fixed on the faint outline of Dragonsreach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a useless reference:  
50 Restoration  
65 Destruction  
40 Alteration
> 
> Well get to that later.


	4. Five Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan learns that his traveling companion is a former war-mage, and things get a little heated. But not in the way you're hoping for.

Whiterun was the same as always, the marketplace bustling with vendors from across Skyrim. It was nearly Harvest's End, and many farmers were eager to get their crops traded or sold and prepare for the coming winter, so it was considerably busier than she was used to. Her business was with the Temple of Kynareth, delivering herbs to make salves for guards and passing Imperial soldiers. The task was to keep coin in her pocket, pass around the latest gossip, update each other on news of the war. It was usually the same, a skirmish here and there, but neither side of the Civil War was likely to make a move until the other did, settling the entire country into an uneasy impasse. 

Amalia took a job to run some potions to the village of Helgen in the south in exchange for a hefty package of herbs and a sturdy new cloak. Kaidan had looked at her oddly when she admired the deep green of the fabric, fingers tracing over the embroidered flowers in the cloth. 

It was only until the woman had bid her goodbyes to the priestess Danica and walked into the sunshine of the afternoon sun that he spoke up. "Why run errands for people if they aren't paying you?" 

"You have to understand, I live a life of simplicity. Or minimalism, I suppose. Gold will not help me when I am shivering in the woods, or will not sate me when my meal is nothing but foraged roots and riverwater."

He'd not considered that. His own life, he'd grown up in the woods, never staying in one place, already planning where he'd be next when he settled into his bedroll at night. Hunting and fishing were skills he'd accumulated with time, so he'd only ever stopped in an inn from time to time when the weather got too bad to camp in or he desperately needed a fresh meal and a bottle of ale. 

"Don't get me wrong, I like having a bit of gold on my person in case I want to treat myself to something nice. Just doesn't help when you're away from the cities." 

"No, I can understand," he admitted. "Will we be leaving for Helgen in the morning?"

She looked to the sky. "No. Let's leave now. We can rest there for the night, or we can backtrack to Riverwood, but this is a task that's best done today."

Kaidan nearly groaned externally, but swallowed his protest. His feet ached, and he was hoping to have gotten a nights rest and a decent meal before they traveled again, but it seemed that wouldn't be the case. The wounds on his back were now nothing but raised scars, but they still itched underneath the skin. He considered asking to rest, but he could only watch and sigh as she made for the gates of the city. 

**_________________________________________________**

Five days. Five days is all it took for her entire life to go to shit. 

First, it was discovering Helgen burnt to a crisp. 

The second was looking into the eyes of Oblivion itself. A dragon--_a dragon, for fuck sake_\--met her gaze as it launched itself in the air, thrice the size of a mammoth and powerful wings that knocked her backwards into the snow-covered stones. 

Panic. 

Panic set in, and she bellowed at Kaidan to run, their feet scrambling down the pathways, kicking up rocks and startling birds out of the trees as they raced by. Twice she tripped, and twice he hauled her to her feet by the back of her robes. 

Riverwood, stables, Whiterun gates. An argument with the guards. 

Panic, plea. 

Dragonsreach. 

Dragonstone. 

Dragon.

The tower was already in ruins by the time they'd gotten there. The stench of burning flesh made her gag the closer they marched, eyes watering from the overwhelming odor of fear and lingering magic. 

Magic? 

She could handle magic. 

And she knew that a storm big enough could drowned anything out. 

The beast shook the ground as it landed in front of her, immediately pelted from all sides with arrows and steel swords, but it kept its eyes focused on her. There was the shimmer in the air, an inhale of breath. Amalia barely managed to raise her ward before a stream of hell-fire came barreling toward her, her magicka flickering unsteadily as the dragon bared down on her. 

Her surroundings rippled with the gathering magicka. There was no hesitation, no fear when she wrapped herself in the cloak of a storm, hair ripping free from the confines of her braids to whip around her head, a charged halo of deadly lightning and snarled threats. 

She screamed Kaidan's name, to see him charge forward, sword raised to strike at the wing of the beast. To see the fear in his eyes. But not fearing the dragon, no. 

There were no words left as they fought. In tandem, in time. Dragons, creatures of legend, bleed just as a mortal man would, and she felt the earth rumble and churn when it gave its dying scream, howling in its melancholy as it thrashed, then stilled, lifeless. 

The storm quieted, magic dispelled into nothing. Amalia felt the rush of light-headedness pulling at the corners of her consciousness, only just barely hearing the shouting around her, distorted as if she were underwater. It felt like it, like she was wading towards the corpse of the dragon as it began to burn, tendrils of light twisting and rearing like a living being. 

Orange and blue, intertwining, dancing, roaring towards her with such a loudness. It slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs, and blotted out the stars from the sky. 

**_________________________________________________**

_Healer, my arse. _Bitterly, Kaidan turned to watch the keepers of the temple fuss over Amalia's form. She hadn't woken up since he'd carried hauled her up the steps of the city two days ago, but other than slightly signed, the priestess declared that she was otherwise unharmed. So why now did she lay unmoving on the slab of stone that was meant to be a bed, skin paler than it had been in the last few days. 

But that alone wasn't the only reason he felt the wrongness of betrayal sticking in his throat. _Dragonborn, and a storm mage. I've seen my share of fights, and that was... a deadly display of destruction magic. _

His skin crawled when he thought back to the fight at the tower. The dragon they killed was smaller than the one they'd encountered at Helgen, but still utterly unnerving in the way it moved, the way it seemed to speak to Amalia in their fight. He didn't think she noticed that. It was clear in the last few days how distracted and distant she'd become, barely stopping to rest, and eating even less than she chose to sleep. 

Yet... there was a healthy amount of unease that had settled within him. Yes, initially, he wondered how she would help in a fight against a dragon, seeing as how she portrayed herself as a healer with a few rune spells, but that sentiment was squashed when she damn near called down a storm from the sky. _Gods_, could he not have a whole week with some normalcy in his life? 

There was a gagging sound nearby, and Kaidan grimaced when he turned just in time to see Amalia roll over on her side and retch bile on the scrubbed tiles floors. There was a flurry of movement, Danica already standing by her with a soothing hand running across her back, murmuring something lowly in her ear. He couldn't bear to face her yet, slipping out the side door of the temple as quietly as he could manage, inhaling the night air of the city. Some part of it was comforting. The smells of wood fires being burn in their homes, fragrant breezes of fall flowers in their final bloom, small things that allowed him to ground himself to the here and now. Prophecy was a lot to take in. 

He was just hoping Amalia would be reasonable enough to hear that the prophecy included her. 

**_________________________________________________**

"When were planning on telling me you were more than a healer?"

She sighed. She'd been sighing a lot since she'd been coherent enough to listen to what he had to say to her. There was a cup of tea cradled in her hands, and she relished the warmth of the ceramic that seeped into her fingers. 

There was... a lot to take in. Understandably. But she'd listened, her expression blank when he finally got around to telling her that she was possibly the great Dragonborn of legends old. How the hills shook and rumbled when the dragon's soul rushed into her, and she Shouted in response before she went down on the battlefield. How the mountains cried out when the Greybeards on their mountain called out to her, summoning her to the highest peak in Skyrim. And she listened to him gripe about the defenses of Whiterun, and how much of an idiot the steward of the keep was. 

Her brain was still addled, taking its sweet time to pick up the pieces of the last few days and stitch them together like some strange blanket of memory that been soaked in copious amounts of bullshit, and ever so joyfully weighing down her thoughts. He asked her the same question again, and she frowned into her tea at the rising irritation of his voice. 

"I _am _a healer. I _used _to be a storm mage. For the Imperial army." 

Kaidan's eyes neared bugged out at the confession. "A war-mage? Really? And you didn't think that was important to mention?"

Temper and pain flared in her skull, squeezing her eyes shut and choosing not to answer him. She couldn't, not yet, not without lashing out. Exhaling through her nose, her hands visibly shook as she raised the cup to her face. It was another long moment and another sigh before she trusted herself to speak. 

"I do apologise if this is a little upsetting for you, but can you consider for a moment that I might not have mentioned it because one, there's a lot going on right now and two, there might be some things in my own past that are painful to talk about? Kaidan, I still have a lot of questions for you, but I'm choosing to wait to ask them, because I _know_ how difficult it is to talk about some things. It takes time to trust, and I'm worried that you're going to throw that aside because of the glaringly obvious precedent you have against mages, no matter the craft."

"But you--"

"But nothing," she interrupted. "If you feel that you cannot work with me because of my past, then you may excuse yourself. I'm sure the Jarl has plenty of bounties that need filling."

His chair clattered to the ground in his hurry to stomp out the doors of the temple. Life-debt or no, Amalia couldn't work with someone who would constantly judge her for who she used to be, or how she chose to go about her life. 

Leaning back to slump against the wall, she allowed herself to cry for the first time in a long time, praying to the gods while she did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third person is difficult when not in one PoV and I despise writing in first person. So, comments, suggestions, ect, anything to help. Or just a kind word or kudos is cool too 💕
> 
> Also putting my own head-cannon in there that dragons are much bigger than vanilla Skyrim dragons. 
> 
> As a third note, any mod related content seen in the chapters will be posted in the notes at the bottom, if anyone is curious for the sources.


	5. Dusty Furs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which they get drunk, share some feelings, and some mutual unresolved tension, maybe of the sexual type, occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mild Warning* 
> 
> Dialog heavy. That's it. There's just a lot of talking.
> 
> Minor PTSD too.

_Robes leave everything to the imagination_, he thought dryly. _So nevermind the fact that I'm traveling with a woman who's supposedly a Dragonborn, but I'm stuck being bored to death while I follow in her footsteps. _

In the very least, he wasn't ashamed at wanting something to entertain him, even if it wasn't the sights of the surrounding landscape. No, what he was ashamed about was finding Amalia the next morning, smelling like a tavern floor, a green apple and a package of jerky in his hand for a lame excuse of an apology. He cringed recalling her face, the way her expression settled into stony indifference when he asked for her forgiveness by his own shite behavior. And by the gods, something in her gaze unsettled him deeply. He wasn't one to fidget under scrutiny. Hell, he didn't crack under pressure from the Thalmor. She'd scolded him, much like a child for who knows how long, before she finally sighed and accepted the apology he had to offer. 

True enough, Amalia wore the tradition white and yellow robes of a healer, restoration symbol stitched into her sleeve, the fabric faded and soft from regular wear-and-tear on the road. The robe itself did little in the way of protection, but she'd tried to remedy that with layer it over the top of fur armor, leaving her outfit a bit... lumpy in some places. But it offered her the covering she needed without complaint, in an effort for comfort, not display. She'd layered over the robes the deep green cloak she'd been given the day prior, looking a bit like a bizarre flower walking down the path, her pack weighing it down so that it didn't flutter in the slight wind. 

Kaidan blew a mildly frustrated noise out his nose. He knew practically nothing about her. Aside from the war-mage part, and the Dragonborn part. But even that was news to her. A traveling healer and a warrior on a path to who knows where, teetering on the brink of uneasy companionship because he couldn't but his prejudice aside. Even after he said he would. The man felt like an idiot, and idiot he was. 

"You're going to burn a hole in my back, the way you've been staring at me." 

He sputtered, trying and failing miserably to deny that fact, claiming to be watching the surroundings for any sign of danger. Amalia shook her head without looking back, her eyes flickering across the pathway. 

They hadn't encountered anything on their journey yet. He hadn't thought to ask about where they were going either, but now that his thoughts were elsewhere than relieving his boredom...? 

"Any particular destination you're leading us on, o'mighty Dragonborn?" 

Amalia made a distressed groan. "Mara's sake, _please_ don't call me that. It feels weird, and I hate it." 

He put his hands up in mock surrender, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. A nickname then? Amy? Lea?" 

"Ugh." 

"Ooh, I know. Ali."

"No."

"Lama."

Another long, drawn out groan. "Kaidan, _please._"

"Amai." 

Hm. Her pace slowed enough so the she walked next to him now, pushing her hood away from her face. "I suppose that's acceptable. But only if I get to call you Kai." 

The man feigned a moment of hard thought, making a show of exaggerated nodding. "A fair trade." 

There was a hint of a smile that played across her face. Which led him to his next question, an attempt to keep himself from staring. He quite liked it when she smiled. 

"So, why the hood on constantly?" 

"Besides the obvious reasons of protecting my face from the hot sun and rain when it falls?" A blue winged butterfly flitted past the two of them, uncaring in its path. "Enchanted. Gives me a bit of extra magicka. And sentimental, really. It was a gift from Danica after she allowed me to train with her. She couldn't leave the temple very often because of her duties, and I mentioned more than once that I'd like to get to wandering. So it was easy enough to convince her to take me in for a while."

"Because you could go out and offer healing services when she couldn't?"

"Essentially. Taught me basically everything I needed to know. Midwife duties, burn tending, bone setting, blood-letting." Amalia wrinkled her nose. "I dislike blood-letting. It's messy, and dangerous if done wrong. Not to mention the smell of it is foul and metallic."

Kaidan couldn't help but admire her honestly about the profession. A healer is often the one with the most blood on their hands, no shortage of gory tales to share. Except her, of course. Always the exception. "Remind me again why you won't treat soldiers?" 

Amalia was silent for a moment, keeping her eyes straight ahead of her as they kept walking. "Personal reasons," she admitted. Something in her tone kept him from pressing for answers. So he silently nodded, and they continued on in an easy silence. It felt easier to walk next to her, rather than behind. 

**___________________________________________________**

The trees were beginning to grow thicker the further south they traveled, stopping briefly in Riverwood to pick up food that wouldn't spoil on the road. She herself slipped the innkeeper a few extra coins for two bottles of Surilie Brothers wine, stuffing them into her pack alongside the various other goodies she had tucked away. The sky was quiet the closer they ventured to Helgen, until the woman veered west off the pathway, deeper into the woodlands of southern Skyrim. It made sense to him that she'd want to avoid the place, but he questioned her judgement on their winding trail through the evergreens. 

He'd asked once where they were going. _Somewhere safe_, she had replied. Easy enough of an answer. 

Once they passed from the base of the mountain, he vaguely recalled where he was at. They traveled south again, skirting down the lower half of Lake Ilinalta. Kaidan had let his eyes draw towards the distant shore, straining to find something he wasn't sure was there. It didn't matter anymore, he figured, and kept going when Amalia turned back to see what had him lagging behind. 

A pesky buzzing noise interrupted his thoughts, and he swatted away a little honey bee that'd come to greet him. The mage made a distressed noise when he went to smack it out of the air. 

"Don't hurt my bees! He's done nothing wrong to you, just came to say hello!"

Kaidan couldn't stop himself from attempting to blow the little creature away from his face when it bonked into his cheek. "Your bees? What--" 

Amalia jumped toward him, snapping her hands closed around it protectively, cooing gently at the little insect cupped in her grasp. "That's what I said, yea. The apiary is probably a little full with honey. C'mon then, we're almost there." She didn't wait for an answer, letting her hands open and watching as the little bee flew back towards its destination, following it up the hill. 

A cabin sat at the crest, looking wholly uninhabited. Well, that is, until Amalia produced a key from her pouch and walked straight through the front doors. It was a quiet place, the ashes in the firepit long since gone cold, and sparsely decorated, but very much fitting to what he'd learned about his companion in the last few days. Several wreaths of dried flowers and snowberry branches hung on the walls, a wardrobe shoved in the corner, some of its contents spilling out of the door slightly ajar. There was no bed to be found, he noted, but rather a large pile of downy stuffed pillows and copious amounts of furs in another corner of the room. 

There were various other pieces of furniture in the room: a table with two chairs, a shelf with a display case perched on it, some small shelves adorning the walls, a barrel, and a chest. There were a number of books arrayed on the shelf, neatly sorted by category and by name. A surprisingly modest living for a former war-mage. 

The sound of a heavy sigh and an even heavier pack thumping to the ground made him break away from his musings. Kaidan watched as she shed her cloak and outer wrappings of her robe, leaving the stark white tunic underneath. 

"We rest here for a few days, gather gear in Falkreath, and then we can make for Ivarstead. I'm not climbing a damned mountain in my healer's robes. If you want to help, there's a few bundles of firewood out near the stables. We can get a fire going and actually have a meal that isn't shite for once." 

**___________________________________________________**

It felt nice to be back in her own home again. They'd gotten there plenty early in the day, and she'd gone out to hang a clothesline across two trees near the house, promptly disassembling the bed to shake out the dusty furs. Or... well, beat the dust out of them. Arming herself with a broom much like a greatsword, the distinct _thwack_ of strikes ringing out in the little clearing that was her property. Unconsciously, she wanted to use this little amount of brute violence she had pent up to promptly beat the shit out of the worries that lurked in her mind. 

Fucking Thalmor. 

_thwack_

Fucking dragons.

_thwack_

Fucking Greybeards. 

_thwack_

And fucking Kaidan!

_Fucking Kaidan? Living in the woods is a lonely task, but you could at least--_

No, _no, **no. **_

The broom broke with a mighty crack as she missed the furs and swung it into the tree instead. She was not going to be having these thoughts. Too tired, too long without companionship, and the inner part of her mind was already making heated jabs at her to scratch an itch she'd been trying to ignore. Amalia was no blushing virgin. She'd had her companionship plenty of times in the army, no matter how fleeting and shortlived it was. Picking up the shattered stick of wood that used to be her broom, the mage grunted, casting it aside. Well. At least she'd already swept the inside of the house out. 

But she hastily shoved the thoughts to the back of her mind and stalked back towards the cabin. Kaidan had made himself busy, as she had no-so-subtly suggested, a decent fire already roaring in the pit in the middle of the room. Though he himself was gone from the house, she eyed the chestplate that'd been propped against the wall, along with his sword. His bow was gone, however, and she figured he'd gone out to go hunt some game. The woods surrounding her home were teeming with both small and large game, and she silently prayed he'd be smart enough not to take something down that would just go back a few days after they left. Her salt reserves were already running dangerously low. 

Eventually he returned with three rabbits, already skinned and cleaned, slightly out of breath. The sun had begun to dip below the mountains, casting golds and reds and greys across the tops of the trees, animals settling down the night in the deep of the woods. Amalia raised an eyebrow at him. "Prancing through the woods, were you?"

Kaidan held up his catch, shaking them lightly. "The last little bastard nearly made me chase him all the way into the lake. 'bout had to jump in!" 

Disbelief flickered across her reflection as she regarded him, until finally, she cracked a wide smile and began to laugh. 

Her peals of laughter made his heart jump in is chest. It was a pure sound, clear and free from worry that seemed to have fallen over her in the past few days, bubbling down into a rolling giggle that she stifled behind her hand. 

"Well go on," she snorted. "You could've used the bath." 

"Aye, laugh it up will you? Go on then, I'll just toss your dinner to the wolves."

"No, no--sorry, I just--" Amalia snickered to herself, rolling her thumb over the potato she was in the middle of peeling. "I'm just trying to imaging a big, hulking warrior of a man chasing after a teeny little rabbit in the woods, and nearly dumping himself in the water trying to catch it." He felt his face heat as he sat down heavily in one of her chairs, slinging the still bloody carcasses on the hanging rack to drip. 

"Yea, yea, don't laugh yourself out of yer skin." Easily enough, he got to work butchering one of the rabbits he'd caught, passing off a bowl of sectioned meat to her, watching when she dropped it into a pot of already boiling broth. The little home was already starting to smell heavenly, and he found himself inhaling deeply, relaxing further into his chair. A few notes of music sounded in the air. He cracked an eye open, curiously watching Amalia as she rifled through her bag, humming to herself, producing two bottles of expensive wine. "Whatcha got there, Amai?"

"The good stuff, _Kai_. Surilie Brothers. I needed something strong after the past week and a half. So-" She pulled the cork out of one of them with her teeth, spitting it on the ground. "If you're up for it, I'd like to get incredibly drunk, and have a long philosophical discussion about the utter fact that Destiny and Fate and prophecy and literally anything else in the world right now is complete bullshit that can get fucked to Oblivion." 

His eyebrows shot up at her foul language. Sure, sure, he'd heard her swear a few times on the road. But not in the context that could shame a sailor. So he grabbed the bottle that was outstretched to him, murmuring a faint 'cheers' before popping the cork and tipping the whole thing back. Though he only managed to get through a few chugs before he had to come up for air, throat burning. The man'd been used to ale, not wine strong enough to knock a bear on its arse. Sputtering, Kaidan looked up in time to see that she'd downed nearly half the bottle before relaxing into the furs and fluffed pillows that were her bed. 

"Alright. I do have a question for you." 

Her head tipped back into the pillows, waving her hand at him to continue. 

"Why aren't you still in the army?"

She patted herself on her stomach vaguely. "Injury. I was down for months. So they shipped me off once I was good enough to walk and stand on my own, dismissing me with full honors. Didn't think I was sturdy enough to keep going. Dropped the severance package in my hands and waved me away."

"Shit, that's a way to say 'no thank you'." 

"Mhmm." 

Pausing, he looked towards the front doors of the home. They'd been opened up to let the cool night air in, but if anything, he figured she'd likely already put up an alarm ward around the entire perimeter. "You were a war-mage, right? You were on the front lines often?"

"Initially, yes. I was. But then there was paperwork that kept me closer to the tents and the higher ups. And yes, paperwork. I made it to Praefect rank before I went down in a fight. Which--urgh," she struggled to sit upright, and focused her gaze at him. "Is another reason I really, _really _don't like ice magic. So ask me again why I don't heal soldiers. Because I had a friend that was killed by an ice spike that was really meant for me." Scooting off her furs, the woman slid open the cooking pot over the fire, shoving the stirring spoon in to give it a mix. Apparently it was done enough, and she started to ladle the stew into separate bowls. "That's why I can't help soldiers. I'm fucking terrified that I'm going to look down at a dying man in a uniform and get choked up and scared. That I'm not going to see that soldier that's actually there, but the face of a friend that I couldn't save." 

Taking another long draw of her wine, Amalia leaned back and grunted quietly. "So there you have it!" Fake enthusiasm laced her voice with the outburst. "I don't treat soldiers because I'm a fucking coward."

"That's not cowardly," Kaidan protested. "That's the effects of war."

"War sucks."

Wooden spoons tapped against wooden bowls as they simmered in their thoughts. Their meal was finished quickly, seconds passed out to keep it from burning the bottom of the pot. He took another sip of wine, eyeing her once more. Her meal rested in her lap, and her sights were fixed towards the front doors, peering out at nothing. Without the bulkiness of the armor under her robes and the hood away from her face for once, he realized that she looked younger than he expected. 

"How old are you?"

"22 summers."

"22 summers and a Praefect in the Imperial Army?"

She chuckled dryly. "What can I say? If you're terrifying enough, you rise through the ranks. Heard that a few times from the Privates who didn't think I was listening. But no, now it's your turn to tell me something. I'm not getting drunk so it can be all about me. You said it was your mother's sword, yea? And you're not a Nord, but the only clue about who you are brought you here."

"That... Aye. I suppose that's about the gist of it. The Thalmor took one look at my sword, decided I'd be a good target for interrogation, and hauled me off to that prison. Been camping on the otherside of the lake when they ambushed me." Another swig of wine. "Seems they don't need much to bring in a suspect these days."

"Were you scared?"

The question caught him off guard. There was no ill intent behind it. He huffed a laugh, bringing the bottle to his lips. "Brynjar used to say, 'If you're not a little afraid, you're not understanding the situation'. Fear I can deal with easily enough... But there was a moment or two, before the whole building was drowning, that I thought it might have been the end for me. The Thalmor would have never let me go, no matter what I told them. You've faced down mortality too, perhaps you know the feeling?" 

"Hmm." Amalia had nestled herself further into the furs, both meals long eaten and the bottle of wine tucked between her knees. Nails clicking on the glass, she considered her answer for a long moment. "Fighting back is the only way to keep that fear in check. Magic is not just spells and incantations, it's about bringing the intent of the spell to life. So you use that fear, and you turn it into a storm." 

That... was not the answer he expected. Breaking into a laugh, he missed the way she jumped, startled at the sound. "You really are formidable, aren't you? I could almost feel sorry for your enemies." 

"The Thalmor will come after you again, you know."

"Probably. And I'll be ready for them. Live and learn, right?"

Raising her bottle at him, the mage nodded in agreement. "Live and learn."

They spoke into the early hours of the morning, past the heavy questions and into the ones of a more normal conversation. Where she was born, where her family was. The alcohol had made her a little more loose-lipped, a little more free in her thoughts, and she answered him honesty. 

Bad terms, she had admitted. They were too worried that she'd go and get herself killed (and she nearly did), so she packed her bag in the middle of the night and left for Solitude without so much as a good bye. Ulfric's uprising was idiotic, and despite the way her fellow kinsman felt about how Skyrim should be ruled, it could not stand by itself until a new High King was crowned. And damned if it'd be Ulfric. 

She also offered freely to help him search for more information about his past, curious herself what his race was, then worried briefly if he'd want to climb the 7000 Steps with her. She'd also asked who Brynjar was, but he waved that off, promising it was a story for another time. She'd also bugged him a few times about his own age, until he finally relented and told her 25 summers, accepting the answer with a satisfied hum. 

So they continued to chat about the little things, until he had quite enough of sitting in the damn chair for so long, spreading out a spare bedroll and some extra furs that she lent him. Amalia had stretched out on her own little nest, having finished off her wine sometime ago, ever other word slurring in a pleasant intoxication. He couldn't bring himself to finish off the wine, head already swimming by the time he'd climbed into his bedding for the night. 

The embers in the little pit were beginning to cool when he turned over, the dim light just barely making out the features of her face. It was hard to tell when she'd fallen asleep, their conversation drawling into a fleeting phrase or two every once in a long while. He studied what he could of her, before his eyes got too heavy and he too fell into a dreamless dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have you know. I'm a slut for the good tropes. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> No editing this chapter, we die like men.


	6. Snowblinded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypothermia is a bitch. Warm up your warriors, folks. SFW cuddling to keep the cold at bay.

They stared at the face of mountain, feet touching the cobblestones of the bridge that was the beginning of their climb. The water churned in the stream beneath them, heedless of its path, the cold misting of water that sprayed them an indicator of the coming winter months, and more appropriately, the trouble their journey might bring. Amalia was shouldering an extra pack, despite Kaidan's attempts and offers to carry it for her. It was mostly foodstuffs for the Greybeards on their mountain; the mage insisted on taking it from the man they'd met in the village of Ivarstead. Klimmek, if she remembered correctly, was getting up there in years, the climb becoming too difficult for him the past months.

With a sigh, she adjusted the weight on her back again, turning to Kaidan. "This is your last chance to back out of climbing an entire mountain. If you want to stay here in the town for a few days, I'll provide you the gold for lodging and food. But I'm not going to make you do this if it's something you don't want to do."

"And turn down what could be my only chance to climb the 7000 Steps?" He shook his head, laughing quietly. "No thank you. Besides, I'll probably be your only company on the path up. Someone's going to have to keep you warm in your bedroll--ow!" Amalia punched him in the arm as hard as she could manage, muttering under her breath, stalking towards the mountain path, ignoring the man behind her when he laughed harder at her ire.

Even in the morning light, their path was slow going, barely reaching the second alter before they had to stop and rest. _Gods_, she felt like she'd been running for miles, calves burning, the breath in her lungs feeling thin. Glancing over at Kaidan, he looked about as winded as she felt, but didn't once complain about it, noting the way he'd pulled his fur cloak tighter around himself against the chill.

Her irritation had long since worn off, and was replaced now by a nagging concern. Nordic blood took longer to freeze in the unforgiving cold that always settled over Skyrim, and while she was faring alright in the sense, Amalia doubted that he was doing as well. Pushing herself off the rock she sat against, the mage pulled off her gloves as she moved closer to him, the faint flare of magicka sparking between her fingers in a pale blue light.

"Kai," she called. His eyes took a moment to focus when he looked up at her, then at her hands. "Do you trust me to do this? It's a spell that'll keep you warm for a little while."

His speech was slow as he responded, chuckling at whatever joke he had in his head. "'s long as you're not setting me on fire, I think I'm okay with just about anything right now."

When the permission was given, Amalia did not hesitate in pulling off one of his gauntlets, letting the magicka resonate away from her and into his hand, watching his skin fade from the red of cold stress to its normal color, his shivering subsiding after a few long minutes. "We need to keep going for a few more hours, at least until we get to the tree line. Can you manage that?" 

Kaidan's nod was good enough of an answer for her. 

The path up wasn't horrible. At least, not until the reached the third alter. They stopped there briefly and spoke to the hunter that rested at the stones, before steeling their resolve again and continuing the climb. The snow was getting deeper and thicker, dusty white powder sticking to their armor and melting against the heat of their skin, soaking their clothing and chilling their bones. There was no spot to rest as they climbed that was safe. They couldn't stop. Not yet. 

They could have made it farther if not for the fucking troll in their way.

A heavy snow had begun to fall, clouding their vision, the mountainside quiet and muffled by fresh snow. 

It was Kaidan who stopped them, feeling the back of his neck prickle as they rounded the corner on the path, spotting an overhang that was well shielded from the snow. Something moved just beyond his field of vision, lost in the flurry of snow that fell. 

A startled scream and the sound of a charging spell cut through the air. Kaidan lurched forward, sword in his hands, calling Amalia's name, stumbling towards the flare of light that erupted in the snowfall. The mage had the displeasure of getting swatted like a ragdoll to the ground, and had only just barely managed to roll out of the way of the swipe of claws. She twisted, kicking her feet in the air, striking it once, twice in the jaw until it grabbed her leg, flinging her through the air like she weighed nothing. 

That was less of the case when she collided with Kaidan, sending them both sprawling in the snowy, the breath stolen through their lungs. He wheezed hard, pushing her off of him to scramble to his feet, sword singing through the air to land a blow on the big bastard of a troll. It roared in anger, surging forward to snarl and swipe at the warrior. Instead it howled in pain when a fire ball struck it hard, followed by two more. Kaidan took the opening of distraction to drive the blade upward into its skull, listening to it gurgle and thrash. 

But still it lived. He raised his sword again to charge, only to be promptly shoved straight into a snowbank. Bewildered, the man raised his head in time to see his companion wrap herself in a cloak of fire, teeth bared and snarling as she rushed forward, her hands charged with fire and lightning. 

_"Fucking trolls!_ _I've had just about fucking had it with this mountain!" _

Despite the fact that he'd put a sword through the troll's skull, it didn't go down until it'd been burnt to nearly ash, the sickening smell of burnt fur being carried away in the wind that whipped around them. Amalia, still wreathed in flames, turned towards Kaidan, making no moves to help him up. In her own eyes, a fire burned brighter than he'd seen before, fueled by the adrenaline of combat. He couldn't stop the words before they left his mouth, and whether he was stunned from being knocked down by a mage half the size he was or if it was the cold addling his brain, he couldn't care less. 

"I didn't think magic could be so... pretty..." 

There was a shift in her demeanor. Amalia lowered her hands, snowflakes melting in the heat of her own firestorm until that too died down and started towards him. Her expression was careful, guarded when she helped him to his feet. 

"Help me get rid of what's left of the body, and we set up camp here for the night." He didn't move at her words until she tugged on the front of his armor, calling his name. "We need to make camp. Can you do that for me?" 

Kaidan nodded mutely, trudging through the snow to get to work. 

**_________________________________________________________________**

Amalia had tried twice to get a campfire going after they'd set up their tent against the wall of the rock outcrop. The snow had died down briefly, and she noted that they were near the fourth altar up the mountainside, only for the storm to return threefold, pummeling their little camp with snow and ice. So they sat between a little lantern, watching as Kaidan nearly burnt the tips of his fingers against the glass in an attempt to get warm, thick furs thrown over their laps and trousers drying the best they could nearby. 

He'd protested loudly when she'd started stripped off her damp leggings in front of him, then silenced almost immediately when she snapped at him to remove his own pants as well. Wet clothing was no help in a snowstorm, and gods be damned if she was going was going to let him freeze before getting to the top of the mountain. 

They sat in relative silence. Not wanting to use a magicka potion, Amalia stretched out in her bedroll, head tipped back against a rolled up blanket, letting her mind rest as best she could. Hollow was the best way to describe the overuse of magicka reserves. It wasn't as bad now, but the use of fire magic always seemed to drain her more than lightning did. 

"Have you fallen asleep over there?"

"No," she muttered. "Gathering magicka." The mage opened her eyes, her hand stretching out to catch his near the lantern, the familiar pale blue glow of magicka flowing across her skin and into his. "And feeling a little guilty for not being able to get a fire going. I'm hoping that the spell with help you get through the night without breaking your teeth, the way you've been chattering so hard." 

Kaidan squeezed her fingers gently before she pulled them away, the light of the lantern catching on his dark hair. "I'm not feeling sorry for coming up here with you, if that's what you're inferring. Though, the offer of sharing a bedroll is still on the table--ey! Come on, don't swat me! Alright, alright, I get the point."

"You can find comfort in your furs, Kai. Your _own_ furs. Besides, if you want to get any warmer, you're going to have to take your armor off. Cold seeps into metal just as well as it seeps into bones, if not more so." 

Chuckling, he complied with her insight, making a sly comment about wanting to see him out of his armor yet again. So she swatted at him, again. 

The tent fell into silence. Feeling satisfied that her magic reserves had been restore, the mage reached for her pack, extracting a book from the thin selection she had. She'd only managed to get a few pages in when Kaidan piped up. 

"You're very well read, I envy that."

Amalia looked up at him, blinking. "I suppose."

"As a child, my education was always focused on the art of war first. I think now I'd like to catch up, expand my mind a little." 

"I could lend you books, if you'd like? I've got a few in my bag..."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "I'd appreciate that. Certainly make quiet nights by the campfire a little more interesting." 

**_________________________________________________________________**

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust in the dark of the tent. Amalia had woken to the feeling of wrongness, sleep-clouded brain working through her environment. The moment of clarity set in, sounds of shallow breath echoing loudly in her ears. 

_Kaidan_. 

Shit! _Shit, shit, shit--_ the mage scrambled from her bedroll over to his form, her hands ghosting along his skin as he shivered, feeling cold as a stone in the Ghost Sea, unresponsive when she tried shaking him awake. Even wrapped in his furs, he was chilled at her touch. Again magicka danced across her hands, laying them against his chest, hoping it would be enough to bring his temperature up. The storm still raged outside. There'd be no time to get a fire started. 

_Fuck it_. She didn't have time for firestarting, and didn't have time for formalities. 

Dragging her bedroll closer, the mage yanked her tunic over her head, snatching up a knife to tear open the front of Kaidan's shirt. For her own sake she left her bindings on, but wasted no time scooting close to him, pulling many layers of blankets and furs over the two. Shared body heat was a blessing in the north, and she hissed slightly when the his chilled skin pressed against hers, slotting her thigh between his legs and conveniently ignoring bodily anatomy. 

A mumbled prayer and thanks was sent up to Kyne for allowing her to be a Nord, less affected by the foul weather that had them trapped in their little camp. She'd thrown an arm over his side, fingers splayed along his back, feeling the spell pulse and ebb against bare skin. Relief flooded her when his breathing turned normal, body beginning to settle down when no longer wracked by shivers. 

Amalia closed her eyes, the pull of sleep tugging behind her skull, resting her head against his chest. This was for his benefit. She wouldn't let him become an icicle on account of being prude about sharing heat. The heavy weight of his arm settled against her side when he shifted, the mage squeaking when his grip on her tightened. 

_Well. That leaves no room for debating about moving, then. _Reluctantly, she allowed herself to relax. Unable to go anywhere, the thought of not wanting to briefly crossed her mind before she drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote this one three times before I was satisfied with it. Still needs tweaking. Ah well. 
> 
> Again, comments and kudos are appreciated, it feeds the ego/muse. Forgive any spelling/grammar errors. I wrote this instead of sleeping. I'll edit it later. 
> 
> Relevant mods: Frostfall, Apocalypse Magic, and something else I'm forgetting. 
> 
> For anyone curious, it's the Soothe spell from Frostfall.


	7. Rising River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping the Greybeard and horn quest shenanigans because we've all had to deal with it before and I'm not putting y'all through that hell.

The mage had woken in the wee hours before the sun rose. With only the tiniest smidgen of regret, she'd untangled herself from him, dressing quickly and rolling up her bedding. Her heavy robes fair a little better in the cold weather of Skyrim, but she almost wished she'd dug her armor out of her wardrobe before they had left her home in Falkreath. There was no room to regret that right now, instead pushing herself to her feet and pulled back the flap of the tent. Freezing air flooded in, cheeks burning from the sudden assault. 

"Snowstorms, thank you oh merciful Kyne. Just what we needed at the end of the fall months is a bloody snowstorm to slow us down." Grumbling to no one in particular, Amalia stepped out into the new blanket of snow. 

Kaidan woke, covered in more furs than he originally started with, and was utterly baffled as to how and why the tunic he'd gone to sleep in had a clean knife line down the torso. That, and wondering why he was in the tent by himself, Amalia and her pack seemingly long gone. So he pieced his shirt back together as well as he could, donning fur and armor, and stepped out into the snow himself. 

The sky was clear as a bell's ring, the distant land below hazy and unfocused. His footsteps crunched in the fresh blanket of whiteness that seemed to muffle the sounds of everything around it, keeping himself steady while he wandered towards the wayshrine in the distance. She was sitting there, a mug of tea nestled between her hands, eyes flickering over the writing that was etched into stone, remaining unmoving when he settled down next to her. 

Amalia handed him a second mug, steam rising from the top in the morning chill. "Snowberry tea. It'll help with the chill. Before you ask, I warmed it up with a bit of fire magicka. No, it won't burn you, and no, it won't stay hot forever." 

He blinked at her. "Saw those questions coming from a mile away, huh?"

"Magic has it's practical uses as well. Heating up some water for morning tea included." When he took his cup, her attention turned to the wayshrine before them. "I'm beginning to wish I'd read the other stones on our way up. _Man prevailed, Shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving to all that their Voice too was strong._ Alduin, World-Eater, was banished from Nirn by the ancient Tongues, if I remember right. People were taught the Voice long ago in order to fight back against dragons, which led to his defeat."

"And Tiber Septim came years after, named the first Dragonborn. Aye, I know the story well enough. Brought together just about the whole continent and created the Empire." 

"Well alright, ser historian. I'll just come to you when I need some casual questions answered." 

"Ah, well... I don't know about that." 

The mage shook her head and lifted her cup to her face to hide the smirk that'd cross her features. There was a lasting warmth in her bones, but it wouldn't hold out forever. They still needed to climb the rest of the mountain. "We'll leave the tent here for now, and collect it on our way back down. When we get back into Ivarstead, would you tell me more of your story?" 

Something unreadable flickered across Kaidan's face. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, it was a moment before he exhaled and nodded. "That's a lot to get in to, Amai. Suppose I owe it to you though, and I'd much rather be somewhere we could put our feet up." 

A smile, sincere. "I'd like that." 

**_______________________________________________________________________**

"So, Ustengrav?" 

An uttered groan. "_Please_ don't remind me. It's up in the marshes of Morthal, and I despise Morthal with a passion." 

"What'd the city ever do to you?" Kaidan leaned back in his chair, feet kicked up on a nearby bench. They sat close to the fire, eager to drive away the lingering stiffness in their joints. 

"Only the fact that a man murdered his wife and daughter by burning them alive inside their own home, turning out to be the pawn of a resident vampire that was planning on seducing and turning the guards on the townfolk so she could join her lover that was living in the caves not far from the city gates. Oh, and not before she turned another townsfolk into a vampire who was trying to dig up the body of the burned child and turn her immortal as well." 

Ale burned his throat when he sputtered in surprise at the blunt confession. "Wh-"

"And the fact that they hate anyone with skill in magicka. That too." 

"That's... not good. Obviously." 

"Obviously, yes." She waved her hand casually, trying to steer the conversation away from her. "But now that we're here, comfortable in an inn, you'll tell me more about you?"

His thumb rubbed against the label on his bottle. He was trying to buy a few seconds of time to gather his own thoughts, but he knew she wouldn't push him for the details, instead looking at him with the strange little head tilt. In the back of his head, a doubt lingered, having him hesitate to tell his story, to let out secrets that he'd been holding on to for years. He'd been spooked during the fight at the watch tower. Energy, deadly and pure, the expression in her eyes making his nearly freeze in his actions. It wasn't bloodlust, no. Kaidan had seen that plenty of times. It didn't matter. He'd figure it out eventually. He just knew that he trusted her enough to tell his story, despite it all. 

"Right, right. I was raised by a Nord, Brynjar. He was a bounty hunter, so I spent most of my childhood traveling Tamriel and criss-crossing Skyrim. Of course, as I go on I'm finding out there's more to it than that. The constant moving, teaching me how to live in the wilderness, training me every day to fight." The man scoffed, rolling the remaining ale around the bottle a few times. "I learned how to use a sword before I ever learned how to read." 

"Huh. Sounds like you had a bit of an odd childhood, then."

"You could say that. For my thirteenth birthday, he took me on a hunting trip in the wilderness--and when I woke up? He was nowhere to be found. All he'd left me was some flint, a knife, and an empty waterskin. Took me two days to get back to civilization, but I'd learned the importance of self sufficiency by then." 

Amalia scowled at him, setting her drink down harder than she intended. "That's a load of horse shit. Why would be do that?"

"You have to understand, I think Brynjar was running from something, and he spent _my whole life_ teaching me to defend myself from... whatever it was. Not that he ever told me. He was always vague about his past and even more so about mine." His tone was dry as he reached for another bottle of ale. "Always promised to tell me one day, and then dying before he ever got around to it. That run-in with the Thalmor seems to have shed a bit of light on the matter though." 

The mage shifted in her own chair, legs tucked under her comfortably. She’d taken her choice of drink from the innkeeper, humming in thought around a mouthful of mulled wine.

It’d grown late in the evening, and many of the tavern’s patrons had either gone home for the night or fallen asleep against the tables. Even the resident bard Lynly has turned in for the night. Amalia was rather fond of her singing. 

"Did you learn anything regarding your mother...?"

"No. Only the fact that it was hers, and that she was strong, and brave, and beautiful." He sighed. "But nothing that was useful in learning who she was."

There were already decorations up for the end of harvest feast, pumpkins lined up near the doors to be carved into spooky faces to celebrate Tales and Tallows in the coming month. It was a day that no adventurer wanted to be outside of city walls, for there were rumors of dead that rose from their resting places to haunt those who were far from civilization. It was just superstition though, a story to spook children into going to bed, something to allow the parents to get a little bit longer to relax in the evening. 

Dragons were legends once, however. Now they had appeared from nowhere, living, breathing creatures. 

Maybe superstition wasn't such a bad thing. 

A log shifted on the fire, throwing sparks in the air. Amalia's eyes followed an ember rising on the draft, sparkling and warm, winking out into grey ash, disappearing along with the rest of the dust in this place.

"What did you do after he died?" He voice was soft, so soft. She wasn't even sure she was speaking out loud. 

"Only thing I knew how to do, really. Bounty hunting. It's taken me to some interesting places. And in the other years, I..." He shook his head. "The less said about my past, the better." 

A pause from her, fingers fiddling with the cork of her wine. "Do you not trust me?"

"What? I-no, it's not about trust. It's just not a story worth retelling." 

The cork popped and fizzled when it landed in the sweltering coals of the fireplace. "Everyone has a story that's worth telling, Kai."

**________________________________________________________**

Patrons of the Sleeping Giant Inn jumped when the front door swung open considerably faster and harder than necessary, slamming into the support pillar with enough force to rattle the elk skull that hung on the wall. Irate was a good starting point in describing the way Amalia felt when she stormed across the threshold. _Days _of traveling wasted, energy wasted, hands shaking despite the fact that they were balled into fists, unshed tears of anger and embarrassment shining just behind her eyes. Head swiveling, she found the gaze of a Breton staring back at her, expression itself neutral but secrets hidden beyond the facade. 

Blind rage made her miss the most obvious aspects. "An attic room, innkeeper." 

"There is no attic room, but you can take the one on the left. Same fare, as usual." 

She was going to murder who ever guided her here. Without another word, the mage stalked to her temporary dwelling, dropping her pack on the bed, shedding the top half of her robes and kicking off her boots, barking at Kaidan to settle in for the night, finally stomping right back out the front doors and down the path towards the bridge outside of the village gates. 

The startled voice of a guard shouting behind her barely registered in her mind as she hauled herself over the railing of that bridge and straight into frigid water. 

And she screamed. Howled her frustration, bubbles rising to the surface much like a malcontent cauldron boiling over, thrashing and striking out at whatever happened to be nearby, a stream of air and profanities escaping from between her teeth when knuckles connected with the rough surface of a rock. 

Red. 

_Red. _

Amalia had seen enough red today. 

Sputtering, gasping, pulling herself to shore, lungs screaming from the exertion and dissatisfaction of being played like a damn drum. 

And she felt like an even bigger fool for having a child's tantrum about it. Even so, the mage was going to find a hint of satisfaction of dragging whoever this contact happened to be through Oblivion and back. 

Dripping water cut through the tense silence that clouded the room like a thick miasma. Brows raised, Kaidan watched carefully as the two women stared each other down across the table. The innkeeper, Delphine, sat back with her arms crossed, waiting for an answer from Amalia, regarding her with steely eyes. 

He'd been utterly baffled when his companion came back through the front door of the tavern some time later, deciding it would be better to let her be alone to collect her thoughts. Originally he had half a mind to go out after her. The avatar of Mara herself could have come down from Aetherius to tell him that he needed to do that very thing, and he would have sat glued to his chair and refused to budge. She'd been deathly quiet when they made their way back around the mountain path, and he wasn't about to incur her wrath by initiating conversation. 

Amalia sat with her hands on either side of the table, knuckles white, nails digging into the old wood. The air felt like unshed magicka, sparks forming under her palms and crackling across the wood, tips of her ears flushing darkly with rising anger. She was very, very close to lashing out, so he stepped closer to her, calling her name. 

_ Amai. _

If he'd not been paying attention, he'd have missed the way her head turned towards him imperceptibly, missed the way electricity shivered across the wood and fizzled into nothing. 

With her attention focused back on the Breton, the mage growled lowly in her throat. "You have 30 seconds to tell me who you are and why you couldn't have just sent a fucking letter." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie the first time I did the horn quest, I was so, so pissed when the thing wasn't there that I had to close the game and walk away for at least a solid hour. Fuckin Delphine.
> 
> also this is shorter than I thought it would be, my bad


	8. To the Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pining fluff and a bit of family angst.

The silence was unsettling for him. Kaidan glanced towards his companion, focused on the way she barely seemed to breath, curled up on herself. The attempt he made at trying to distract her miserably failed. 

"So, the Blades, huh? A dying force of dragon slayers resurfacing after years of hiding. What do you think-"

"Don't--" Amalia had to swallow hard, head resting on her knees. A second dragon soul make her feel overly full, wrong in her own skin. "Please. That's the last thing I want to think about."

Steam hung hot and heavy in the air, thermal vents spewing out misting water in a nearby pool. There was shuffling to her left, a bump of shoulders when he sat down next to her, hanging his feet over the edge of the little spring they'd made camp by. She didn't want the silence, the chance of overthink and become exasperated over the whole ordeal. He obliged when she'd asked for more of his story.

Kaidan wasn't proud of what he did when he was younger. Brynjar's death left him terrible habits and a loss for meaning, admitting to the way he'd fallen to hard drinking and skooma use. He'd fallen in with a group that he'd thought were just bandits, anything to give him purpose, reluctantly discerning that he'd found out much later than he probably should have noticed that they were worshipping a Daedric Prince. But he'd been blind to that, willingly allowing himself to be caught up in the mess for a taste a power that they could never truly give him.

The mage had turned her head to look at him while he told his story, gaze flickering over the tattoo that covered the right half of his face. "But you escaped it."

"I did. But that's a long and painful tale that I won't burden you with. Now, I try to keep my eyes and mind on more earthy matters. It's one of the reasons I'm in Skyrim, digging up my past. I've learned if you feel you have no place in the world, then you must make one."

A shaky exhale. Amalia crossed arms over knees, settling her chin there to look across the landscape. "I'm sorry for what you went through."

"I'm not."

She wasn't expecting that answer, bringing her head up to look at him again. His stare was even with hers. "And why is that?"

"Because it set me on a path that met with yours. How could I be sorry for myself, when I'm so grateful for that?"

That smile, that damned smile of his, the way the corner of his mouth quirked up to one side that made him look younger than he was, the way her heart did a little flip when she saw it. When in Mara's name did that start happening? At that very moment, she was glad that the land around them had grown dark, the barest hints of orange decorating the skies in the far west. Her face heated at his statement, snorting loudly to cover her discomfort and distract him from the fact that'd she'd grown embarrassed.

"Come on now," she chided. "Don't get soft on me."

"Not getting soft, just thought it was time to feed your ego a bit."

"Ugh!" Amalia leaned away from him enough to punch him in the arm, letting her legs unfurl and hang over the ledge as well. Her tone was mock-scandalized, given away by the fact that she couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up. "You arse, and here I thought you were being nice to me."

"Ouch! Hey, I am nice! I set up the tent!"

** ____________________________________________________________________ **

They had broken into their rations for the day, sitting shoulder to shoulder and sharing an apple that she had tucked away in her bag. When their conversation lulled, the mage looked to the stars, chewing on her slice of sweetness, fingers fiddling with the amulet that she'd tucked under her tunic, running a thumb over the turquoise that rested in its center.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I could be a smart-ass and say you just did, but go ahead, ask away."

"On the way up to High Hrothgar, you used fire spells to take out that troll. Aren't you a storm-mage?"

She exhaled, nodding. "Storm based destruction magic is my main forte, yes. But only mages who are either very new to casting or very self conceited stick to one school of magic, and specialize only in one type. More experienced mages branch out into other schools, like Restoration, Conjuration, Alteration, and so on. It's sort of the same when someone becomes a Master in a school of magic. Not balancing your skills can lead to weakness in the form of being predictable."

"Aye, that's fair. But specifically, why lightning spells?"

"Ah... Well, it's a good counter against other mages. Steals magicka, and all that. Can't really give you a reason why, because I don't personally know myself."

Kaidan made a noise of affirmation, leaning back on his hands to consider her words. "So for the advantage in a fight. You continue to surprise me, Amai."

"So it seems. Which brings me to a point of my own: I'll have to climb up to see the Greybeards again, since I have the Horn now. And as much as I love sharing a tent with you, you nearly froze to death up there. That's not really something I want to repeat, yea?"

Oh. He hadn't known that, but it made a lot more sense why he'd found his shirt ripped open the next morning and covered in twice as many furs as the previous night. So as it stood, she'd saved his life again, having decided not to tell him this time. He really was in over his head with this life-debt thing, wasn't he? To him, it made sense that she didn't want him to travel up the mountain side again. A perfectly capable mage and a Dragonborn, for divine's sake! She'd get along just fine.

"But... I think I'm going to try to get answers from the Greybeards, stay with them for a little while."

"How long is a little while going to be?"

"Er. I'm not sure. Depends on what kind of questions I need to ask. Look, if there are places where I can learn new words of power, then I need to figure out where those are and get to them. Delphine might be paranoid that the Thalmor are behind all this dragon business, but I think that's a load of utter crap. They're likely as confused as everyone else on Tamriel. It could be a week, could be a few months, could be..." Trailing off, Amalia leaned to lay on her back, hands folded over her stomach. "The thing is, there's a lot I don't know. A lot I could learn.

"And please, don't think poorly of me, but I need the power from these Shouts. I need to become stronger. I need... I want to know who I am. At least, what is expected of me." The mage gave a huff of annoyance. "I guess you and I aren't too different, are we?"

"No," he admitted. "I suppose not."

**______________________________________________________________________________**

"Can I ask how Brynjar died?"

The constant beat of hooves on the cobblestone path had both lulled them into respectful silence. Air strangely warm for an autumn day, the mage had chosen to shed her cloak and outer robes, having them rolled neatly to act as a little cushion for her saddle. How she'd managed to get horses in Ivarstead was beyond him, no shortage of incredulity and confusion plastered across his face when she'd handed him the reins of a massive chocolate colored mare. Her own horse, though slightly smaller, was a tawny colored gelding with a white blaze up his nose, which she affectionately named Cinnamon right away.

So he'd settled for naming his own steed Kiai, relieved that he'd have a little while longer to traveling with his companion.

His companion. It felt strange thinking about it in that manner, but when they'd set their course towards Ivarstead, Kaidan couldn't understand why there was a constant lump in the back of his throat, distinctly sour and reminding him all too much of worry. It made sense to worry about the person you had a life-debt too, but this... it was peculiar to him. Heavier.

And it had begun to fade when they continued their path north, taking the longer road around the mountain, progressing at a more comfortable pace that several days of walking did. So their gait was unhurried, horses pulled up close to each other to minimize the amount of shuffling they had to do on the road when the occasional traveler came along, and he'd been glad for it. Kaidan was almost glad that Amalia was too zoned out or oblivious to the fact that he'd been sneaking glances at her the entire day. Despite having discarded the outermost layers of her clothing, the tunic she wore was thick and loose, giving no secrets away for her physique. He wasn't about to ask either.

But he'd let his thoughts gather long enough, eyes focused westward. "Exposure," he said quietly. "At least, that's what the priest call it. Y'see, Brynjar fought in the Great War, but he lost his faith in the Empire after the White-Gold Concordat was signed. That, joined with whatever horrors he's seen in action had scarred something in his mind. Happens all too often."

She nodded. "Soldiers never speak of it, but it's there. The scarring."

"You understand what I'm talking about then." Kaidan shifted in his saddle, reaching down to absently run his fingers through Kiai's snarled mane. "One winter night he went out in search of something stronger; they found his body the next morning lying on the steps to the Temple, frozen solid. I don't know if he meant to kill himself, but it was clear he didn't care if he did or not."

"That must have been painful to learn about..."

The swordsman snorted disdainfully. "I wasn't sad, I was angry. He could have died fighting, or as an old man surrounded by family, or... or in any other way that had some bloody dignity. Instead, he just... left."

Amalia wasn't going to let him sit and be sour their entire journey, reaching over to yank the reins from his hands and pull both horses to a stop, expression stern and unyielding. "He was sick, Kai. That doesn't change the good he did. Brynjar raised you, didn't he? You may both have had your mistakes, but you've gotten this far. Isn't that enough?"

Gaping at her briefly, the man resigned with a sigh, nodding. "I suppose you're right... and more forgiving person than I am. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from you."

Satisfied with his answer, she tossed the reins back, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "You'll find your peace, Kaidan. It just takes time."

"Thank you."

"For?"

He shifted again, trying to find his words. "...y'know. Listening."

**______________________________________________________________________________**

Briefly they stopped at the stables of Whiterun to order for supplies to be sent to Amalia’s home and calling for a courier, having borrowed writing materials and parchment from the stable master. The mage bent over against a barrel as she scrawled her letter.

_-D_

_ I’ll be away for a while, and I don’t know when I’m coming back. If we’re going to be dealing with robes, then I’m going to need to gather my strength. And if what you say is true about our upcoming hostess, there will be plenty of opportunities for us to go crash the event. _

_ And no, my companion can’t do this for you either. Robes know him too well. Long story._

_ If you find out more information, pass it along to him. Oh, and he might have some questions about your... organization. I’d appreciate it if you obliged. _

_-A_

She leaned back to regard her handwriting. It was vague, but enough to get her point across. If the Thalmor were after her, then it wouldn't have been safe to openly word her messages. And if she’d pissed off Delphine, Amalia couldn’t have cared less. The bitch had made her traipse through Morthal for fuck sake and it was clear the ‘innkeeper’ had little reason for existence than to serve a Dragonborn. So sending the letter and a pouch of coins off with the courier, Amalia moved towards her mount to get back on the road. 

Not that she did much Shouting. In total, she knew maybe three Words? 

That in itself distressed her. It seemed suddenly like there were a lot of expectations and standards to live up to. A fabled, legendary Dragonborn, nothing but an ex-solider and a wandering healer, too scared of her past to help heal those injured in the war. She was terrified she'd let her kinsman down, but she was more concerned about the rising threat of being a new target for the Thalmor. The mage cast a glance over to Kaidan. 

Watching as he tightened the straps of his saddlebags, the mage let her eyes flicker over his back. She was curious about his scars again. 

Fate, Destiny, whatever one may call it, it felt strange that she'd managed to have such a capable swordsman at her side. But she was grateful. Time and time again he'd saved her ass in a fight, whether it was taking down someone she couldn't quite handle with just magic, or thinning out a crowd of bandits that'd taken her in notice first. By Oblivion, he'd gotten a hold of a stray wolf that'd been stalking them for miles before she even knew it was there. 

The years of training he'd had a child paid off, she noted. There were multiple times she'd looked up from her dead opponent to find him finishing off another, a shameless display of strength and control behind his swings, careful and steadfast in the way he moved, that she sat awed by him. 

Once or twice she'd hired a mercenary to escort her somewhere when the roads tended to be more dangerous, but found herself disappointed by their skills that seemed to be self-taught and very poorly conceived. A waste of her time, and her gold. 

Amalia had come to appreciate Kaidan in her own strange little way. The nagging worry that she felt when he was struck in a fight, or the comfortable silence that sat between them in the long nights of the campfire, allowing her to catch up on the reading she'd been unable to do. Even the occasional dry joke he provided offered her humor in the lapses of their conversations. 

So she chastised herself when she realized just how much she'd wanted to ask to check his scars. It was logical wasn't it? Provided she'd been a healer for a number of years now, it made sense to her that she wanted to be sure that the skin had healed correctly, that it didn't bother him too much, that she might see if there was anything smooth away the memory of torture written in his flesh. 

And she didn't realize she'd been staring at him until Kiai gave a little whicker in her ear, blowing strands of hair away from her face. His expression was amused when he spoke. 

"Have I got something on my face, or are you just too shy to ask for help to get on your horse?"

"Hey, I'm perfectly capable of getting on Cinnamon by myself, thank you! You just want an excuse to grab the back of my robes again, don't you?" 

"I'm wounded you think so lowly of me, Lady Dragonborn." Putting a hand to his chest, he gave a short bow. Amalia snorted in response. 

"Oh for the love of Mara, please don't call me that. It sounds ridiculously pompous. And it doesn't sound right coming from you either." She shook her head, making her way over to her own mount, failing twice to boost herself into the saddle, wheezing loudly when the horn caught her in the ribs. 

The third time she nearly fell flat on her ass and decidedly gave up, leading the gelding to a nearby fence and using it as a makeshift ladder until _finally_ she was seated properly. Without looking back, Amalia clicked Cinnamon into a slow trot, ignoring the rolling laughter behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated, it keeps me motivated to keep going. Thanks for reading so far. ❤
> 
> also hint hint wink wink at the amulet of mara but not for reasons you're expecting. It's a slow burn folks, we've got a few more chapters for that.


	9. In Your Nature

Aside from a rather heavy rainstorm that'd slowed them on their path around Lake Ilinalta, their journey back to Amalia's little cabin was fairly uneventful. Neither of them had said very much to one another during their time, pausing later in the evening than he was used to doing by himself, sharing a meal over a small campfire that smoldered a little with damp kindling. She'd grumbled for a little while about her books getting wet. That was something he'd found rather endearing. 

He enjoyed traveling with her. The realization struck him while they sat across from each other in her home, the silence of the house only interrupted by the occasional flipping page of whatever book she'd gotten into and the crackle of embers in the small firepit. Albeit he had his grievances in the first week or so with her, Kaidan felt a bit like an ass when she'd scolded his behavior as if he was some child. But it was rightfully so that she did. He'd had his time to think about what'd she'd done for him during their quiet walks and quieter nights camping. 

Kaidan remembered the moment he thought he was going to die. The water burned his lungs like fire, panic and helplessness making him thrash and fight against what was almost reality. It was strange to thing of the sensation of drowning as such, what he would have given to see the stars in the night sky again. And he wondered too if Shor would allow him access to the Halls of Valor, despite that he wasn't a Nord. And he wondered if Brynjar were there. 

But it was her eyes in the dark water that he saw, not a shield-maiden from the Hall like he had assumed in his delirium. 

It was her gaze she met when they first fought the dragon at the western watchtower, blazing with fury and feral determination that strangely reminded him of a wild beast. 

A dragon. 

His hands paused on bit of wood he'd been working. _That... makes a lot of sense, actually. _More than once they'd locked eyes in battle, ensnared in their little snippet of frozen time, pulling away once more to engage in their targets. The way her head tilted when she regarded something with interest, how she coiled and lashed out, discharging deadly magicka from her fingertips. Kaidan chuckled under his breath at the thought of her hoarding things like gems and gold. Well, at least until he glanced at her collection of books, and the pile of furs she just happened to be lounging on. 

Dragonborn indeed, by blood and by nature. 

Thoughts circling back to their original point, the swordsman swallowed thickly when the familiar lump of uneasiness rose up in his throat. She'd been leaving him in a few days to start her journey up the Throat of the World again for gods know how long, hidden away in a stuffy little monastery just to find out a little more about who Fate had determined her to be. 

Of course he wanted to make the climb with her again. But even his presence the first time they'd stepped foot into High Hrothgar had the Greybeards wary, only speaking to Amalia when he'd been ushered away to a side hall. It was highly doubtful that they'd let him stay for longer than they'd already allowed him. Secretive bastards. 

He was going to miss her. Oh, that thought hit him like a sack of stone, face scrunching up in a strange disbelief. 

There was always quietness about her in her interactions with others, polite smiles and casual conversation that got to the point of what she needed before moving on to her next task. No wasted time, no inflated pleasantries, no victim to common gossip-mongering that'd have old ladies clucking about for hours for some useless prattle. Kaidan was fond of that. Fond for the fact that she seemed more open to share stories with him, to do something other than stare at each other blankly over a campfire. 

"Amalia?" 

She made a noncommittal noise without looking up from her book. 

"It's been almost a month since we started traveling together." 

When he didn't continue, the mage set the book at her lap, regarding him with that curious head tilt of hers. "... yes?"

_Shit. _He didn't know where he meant to go with this. "Aren't you going to get bored up there without your books?" 

"I'd hope the Greybeards have some sort of collection. Even if it's history, I don't think I could sit around all day meditating to the sky in order to find my... inner self, I guess? They can do their thing, I can do... whatever my thing is going to be. If that requires reading a ton of old history tomes to figure out how and what I'm suppose to be doing with myself, then so be it."

"You're handling this better than I would of, I think." 

She blinked at him. "And you would have handled the return of the dragons how...?" 

He didn't know. So he didn't answer, turning his attention back to the pine block he'd been carving, mouth set in a thin line. What would he have done? Taken up the mantle and gone along with it? Or would he have gone into hiding, let the world deal with itself? That was a question he could not answer. Not for Amalia. Not for himself. 

"You're thinking too much again." It wasn't accusatory. "You get a really serious look like something terrible has happened, like Alduin returning to consume Nirn or something else completely stupid. I'm not going to be up on that mountain for years, if that's something that's bothering you." 

"No, I-It's not that. You're just taking this surprisingly well. A Dragonborn hasn't been seen in ages, and now that responsibility falls to you." 

"Kaidan, I don't know what my responsibility is suppose to be. Which is the exact reason I'm climbing to High Hrothgar again." Amalia sighed, grumbling. "Not that I'm entirely pleased with it." 

"Then why find out at all?" 

An unreadable expression passed over her face when she looked at him. "You're asking a lot of questions today. Why are you suddenly so concerned about how I'm going to go about this?" 

"Because--" Floundering for words, he looked to his hands, thumbing over the carved wood as a distraction to himself. "Because I'm suppose to be protecting you. I swore a life debt to you, no matter the circumstances." 

"You swore a life-debt to an ex-soldier turned traveling healer. I didn't exactly hide anything from you, and I didn't exactly beg Akatosh for this to happen. If you feel that you can't complete your debt, then you're allowed to leave."

He reared his head back like she'd struck him, meeting her gaze with his own bewildered look, uncomfortable and shifting under the predatory stare. She was giving him the option to go, to have an out. 

What would he do if he left her to Fate? Go back to bounty hunting? Would he fear staying in place too long, now that the Thalmor knew him, fear that be might be hunted down and slain? He wouldn't fall back to drink again, no. Too many of his days blurred by him when he'd fallen into that dark part of his life. And so openly did she offer to help him find out more about his past. Some part of him felt guilty, to think that he'd stay to use her to find out more of who he was, to use the circumstances in his favor.

"Or, you can stay here." 

_What?_

"You can stay here at the cabin while I'm away. It's hidden away from the rest of the world, off the path, and the locks are strong. Camping in the woods isn't exactly a paradise, and I know as well as you, even if you've been doing it longer than I have." Amalia stood and paced past him, fingers skimming over his shoulder in the barest of touches. Kaidan damn near jumped at the contact, instead watching carefully as she shelved her latest read. "Besides, you're right. I am going to get bored up on that mountain. You should stay, and write me a letter every once in a while. I know a woman in Riften who has messenger hawks for purchase. So, what do you say?" 

She stood before of him now, holding out a key on a braided leather cord. An offer. An invitation. 

An unsaid promise. 

Kaidan couldn't stop the giddy grin that spread across his face. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Talos knows I couldn't get rid of you that easily." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment and kudos appreciated, folks. 
> 
> This one is a little shorter because I'm having trouble getting the ball rolling on the story. Thank you everyone who's been leaving those kind words and kudos for me. Lets me know I'm doing something right. 😊
> 
> Most of the next chapter is going to be in the form of passing letters. And no worries, Amalia won't be on the mountaintop for very long. Not much to do up there to entertain a gal with wanderlust.


	10. Letters to the Sky (p1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore drop inbound, you've been warned.

It took a week for him to find his words after Amalia disappeared up the mountain path. He'd gone with her to Ivarstead, and watched from the other side of the bridge that started the journey, crimson eyes following her form as she wound her way up the road, staying long after she could no longer be seen. Kaidan was never a man for prayer, but he found himself murmuring a few words to the gods for protection and guidance. She was capable. He knew that. That doesn't mean he still didn't worry. 

So when he found himself back at her little cabin, the horses tucked away in a little lean-to, the man stared at the tip of the quill he held, hoping that the right words would come to him. And they did, eventually. 

_Amalia, _

_ I hope this find you well enough. I'm sure there are birds that like to circle the very peak of the mountain, but having been almost all the way to the top, I can contest that it's **fucking cold**, so I do feel a bit of regret for sending this hawk up to you. Only for the hawk, that is. _

_ Your bees seem to miss you, and despise me. Two mornings ago I went to check on them, and nearly got chased out of the hold by a rather large swarm of them with the anger and ferocity of a thousand little suns. I think I'll wait a little while longer before I attempt to even get close. And yes, don't worry, I followed the instructions you left. That doesn't mean I won't still try to take care of them. I will be nice. _

_ And you were right about the cabin being well hidden away. I've taking to hunting during the nighttime, and found myself looking over the road when travelers were passing through. From where I was, and from what I could hear, they were none the wiser that anyone lived in this portion of the hold. Game out here is rich, and I have to remind myself constantly that I'm not currently camping out in the woods, that my catches can be a little larger and are able to be salted and stored away. Though, my fishing attempts have been less fruitful. Slippery little bastards. _

_ Aside from that, I'm curious how you're faring. I'm sure the Greybeards are thrilled that you've returned with their Horn, and no, that's not sarcasm. Pretty sure they haven't had anything exciting happen to them in decades. It'd be interesting to find out their history that isn't put in old tomes. Hopefully you have some news in that matter, and you're not completely dying of boredom on that mountain. _

_ Kaidan_

*********

_Kaidan_

_ You were right. _

_ I am dying of boredom up here. Their collection of actual books is astoundingly small, and I've had to limit myself to reading only one per day, lest I burn through their meager collection in less than a fortnight. Arngeir has been difficult to work with in regards to getting questions answered. Not that he's being obstinate, really. It's quite the opposite. But he'll only tell me so much at a time before he wanders off to go meditate or talk to the sky or whatever he happens to be doing. The silence in the hall is maddening, and trying to get the information I want is as bad as watching sap drip from a tap in the middle of a blizzard. _

_ And, not to worry, I've a little space that the hawk is resting in that's plenty warm. Bit afraid to give him salted meat though, I'm sure that's not too good for his stomach. I'm glad you're attempting to be nice to my bees, they were a bit irritable with me when I first transplanted them into their hive. Give it some time. They'll warm up to you. _

_ First, you're chasing rabbits into the lake, and now you're jumping in after the fish? Goodness, Kai, if I knew any better, I'd almost say you wanted to subject yourself to a bath. Mara knows you need it. _

_ Joking! I'm just joking. _

_ Or am I? _

_ Ugh. Okay, perhaps being up here with three mute men and one who would rather be sitting in the snow because it brings him closer to Kynareth isn't such a great thing. I found an old door at the very end of the monastery that seems like it digs into the mountain side, but it's locked. I asked Arngeir about it, and he just got this sad look on his face and said he'd look for the key to let me in. So I'm not entirely sure what that's about. _

_ If it puts any worry out of your mind, the trip up here was actually uneventful. I talked to the lady who sits by the third waystone again. She's very sweet, but I've no idea how she doesn't freeze on the spot, since her fur armor is basically just a binding and a loose skirt. To each their own, I suppose? _

_ Oh, and actually returning the Horn was a bit strange in itself. They told me I passed my trials, and that I was ready to receive their greeting. That greeting involved a lot of yelling. It probably sounds very strange, but they were speaking in Dovahzul, and the chant shook the very bones of the mountain. When I asked about the translation, Arngeir was happy to oblige. Here:_

_ "Long has the Storm Crown languished with no worthy brow to sit upon. _

_ By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old._

_ You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North. Hearken to it."_

_ ... I will not lie, the title of Stormcrown is fitting, and tempting. And literal, if I try hard enough. Though I may only succeed in burning my eyebrows off with lightning. _

_ I have the free time, and there are a few translation books up here that I could try and thumb through. Perhaps if I learned to speak like a dragon, I can throw out insults during a fight with one. That ought to throw them for a loop. _

_ Right, I think this letter is getting long enough, I'll end it here, otherwise our poor bird is going to be hauling luggage through the sky. Please, for the love of literally all the Divines, keep writing. There's nothing much to do up here. _

_ Amalia_

_ PS, be nice to my bees!_

*********

_Amalia, _

_ Getting shouted at by a group of old men sounds about as entertaining as I can picture it, but if it was done in ceremony, then perhaps I shouldn't take it lightly. Sometimes the answers you need lie in tradition, whether it be in told stories or song, but it's not always written down word for word. Perhaps Arngeir is slow to trust you because of the damage that Ulfric has caused to Skyrim? Either way, it's good that he is allowing you to explore the monastery a little bit more, despite his own reaction. Maybe it holds bad memories for him? _

_ Honestly, I'd joke about you needing a bath as well, but I'm pretty sure you'd just dump a bucket of water on my head as revenge. Seems like something you'd do. _

_ "Amalia the Stormcrowned" or "Amalia Stormcrown". Now that's a title. I'm surprised you're more impartial to that than you are Lady Dragonborn. But I won't poke fun about it. If you like it, then claim it as your own. It seems trivial for anyone to argue that you aren't Dragonborn now, considering how quickly you've managed to learn what you know now. I agree that it fits you. I just wouldn't attempt the literal part. _

_ Learning a new language can be a challenge, and it may be useful later on, but I **highly recommend not insulting a dragon**_. _They're already pissed enough as it is when they come swooping down from the sky. But you already know well enough that I can't stop you in your endeavor. _

_ Like I wrote previously, it would be interesting to find out the history of the Greybeards, or of other Dragonborns. Perhaps enclosing what you find out in each of the letters could help you keep track of everything you learned? Just a suggestion. _

_ And I am being nice to the bees. They came after me first. _

_ Kaidan_

*********

_ Kaidan, _

_ The locked door in the monastery is to a library. A whole library! A good number of the books are old and crumbling with age, but others have still been salvageable. The Greybeards seem reluctant to enter this place, so I'm claiming it as my own whether they like it or not. There's a small, single bedroom in here as well, but I don't think I've mentioned that the beds are made of literal stone. Gods, I was so very sore the first few nights I slept, and there's no where to hang a hammock up that I might sleep off the cold ground. There was one traveler who came up to drop off food in the offering chest they have at the front steps, and I may or may not have requested they send up some extra furs. _

_ But they did bring them up! I was pleased when I found the bundle neatly wrapped up in the bottom of the chest, and promptly made a nest in the corner of the bedroom where it's less chilly. There was extra clothing in one of the wardrobes in this little bedroom, and it was robes of different colors other than grey. Decidedly, I picked out a soft looking green one. It's very warm, and not at all moth bitten, seeing how high in the sky we are. Kind of smells musty though. _

_ In my exploration of the library, I also found a Shrine to Kynareth. The depiction is unlike any I've seen beforehand, and something about the stones makes me think that this is a very old monument. Perhaps I should sit and pray here for a little while. It was Kyne who gave Man the ability to speak as dragons do, even if it was Akatosh who bestowed the dragonblood to mortal beings. I'm surprised I've not found any indication of reverence to Akatosh since I've been here. _

_ Promise I'm not turning into some kind of hermit on the mountain. I just find it strange that Greybeard philosophy only focuses on Kyne. _

_ You're really wanting that history lesson, aren't you? Alright, fine. You can't blame me if this gets long winded. _

_ I'm going to assume that Brynjar taught you some history, so I'll leave out the really small details and give you a revised version. _

_ Dragons seem to have come from Akavir, based on what I've read from multiple texts. When Atmorans first came to Tamriel, they worshiped totem animals, like the fox, the eagle, the whale, and so on. Dragons were considered the head of the 'pantheon' that they worshiped, and the dragons who were here were... very much pleased with it. Namely, that's why it's called the Dragon Cult. It's said that because they are children of Akatosh, they are superior to man and mer alike, so they existed as god-kings to the ancient peoples. _

_ It sounds strange, but it makes sense. Worship a dragon, and suddenly they're before you as a living being? They likely saw that as an incredible, holy sign. But it gets worse. The dragons didn't like doing the actual ruling, so they designated people as Dragon Priest to do it for them. And they... happened to go a bit mad with power. Long story short, they turned into complete tyrants and everyone who wasn't a Dragon Priest was a slave. Which is what started the Dragon War. _

_ I've still got more reading to do, but that's what I've gathered so far. Obviously history isn't such a one track mind, but there's a lot of other stuff that I've read through that doesn't seem relevant enough to write down. _

_ How long has it been since I've been up here? I've lost count of the days, mainly because of the fact that when it begins to storm up here, it storms for days at a time, and the sky remains mostly grey until the sun far past the horizon. On those days, the Greybeards choose to meditate in the halls. _

_ Oh, speaking of halls! I never really realized how much everything echoed in here. When the Greybeards are out in the courtyard area, I've taken to singing old herding songs that my mother taught me when I was little. Call it whatever you like, but the way the halls pull the sound across the stones is strangely ethereal in nature. Well, herding songs and some traditional Nordic melodies. Those are always fun. _

_ I'll cut the letter off here, I've got some organising to do with this old library. If you get any word from Delphine, do let me know. _

_ Amalia (the supposed Stormcrowned)_


	11. Letters to the Sky (p2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amalia comes down from the mountainside, and Kaidan has to deal with her bullshit and sass. Story should be progressing a little faster from now on, thank you for dealing with my lore-drop bullshit. ❤

_Amai, _

_ When your last letter arrived, 24 days have passed since you left. In truth, I've begun to get bored down here. I've traveled to Falkreath a number of times for supplies, and I'm honestly not understanding why you dislike the merchant at the shop so much. She seems a nice woman, but I'm sure your quarrel with her is a little more deep-seated than just being nice. _

_ My personal knowledge on the Dragon War is a bit muddy, but that is what ultimately led to Kyne giving man the ability to Shout, isn't it? With it, they drove Alduin out from the world. How exactly is something I don't know, but I'm sure in time you'll have learned about it. It's good that you found the extra wing in the monastery, even though it's likely to keep you up on the mountainside a little bit longer._

_ Have you learned anything on the locations of Word Walls? If you think they're going to help you grow stronger, then I could try and find out from the locals in the city where some might be. _

_ I'm looking forward to your return. I've read through a majority of your book collection, and I find it rather surprising that many of them are fictional works. Something tells me you're rather fond of the 'Thief' trilogy, seeing as how the bindings are soft and worn out. _

_ I've received no word from Delphine, and I suspect it will remain that way until we actually go and see her again. Seeing how heated the two of you got at each other in the first meeting, I'm sure she's seething right now, and I think I'd rather jump into the maw of Oblivion before going to see her by myself. _

_ Honestly, I wanted this letter to be longer, but there's not a whole lot to report here. _

_ Be safe,_

_ Kaidan_

Be safe? Leaning back in his chair, he regarded his handwriting with scrutiny. How would she be in danger up on the mountain, aside from the occasional storm that she had shelter from? That didn't seem to stop him from worrying. True, he was bored out of his skull some days, and while hunting and fishing (which he was getting better at) alleviated some of the boredom, he missed having her around. Even when they sat near one another when they traveled, it was peaceful, her presence comforting to him. 

When she was absorbed in whatever choice of book she'd chosen for the night, Kaidan was not subtle in the way he observed her. Usually too far gone in her world, Amalia sat hunched over in a strange position, her head propped against her hand, elbow rested against her knee, the book turned just enough towards the fire light for her to see the words across the page. There was once that he'd called her name, and still she was none the wiser to it, one hand coming up to her mouth so that she could worry at the nail of her thumb with her teeth. If he could have captured that moment to keep to himself, he would have, but for now he was satisfied for having committed that scene to memory. 

Kaidan set his quill down to run his hands through his hair, sighing heavily to no one. More than once he considered heading to the Jarl's longhouse to see if there were any bounties to be taken for the area. Something to keep him active, with a little bit of extra coin in his pocket. The idea of getting soft by sitting around in Amalia's cabin made him frown. Aside from fending off a group of bandits that'd tried to surprise him on the road, he hadn't done much fighting in the past month or so. 

He picked up the pen once more to scribble down his errant thought. 

_ps, Are the Greybeards treating you well?_

That... was one of the things that worried him, yes. It seemed like only Arngeir was the one to speak to her the very first time they'd been there, and it seemed that Amalia only mentioned him in her letters, and nothing about the other three. Perhaps they'd taken some sort of oath of silence? 

Before he could back out of sending the letter, Kaidan had it dried off and rolled to be sent away with the hawk, watching it climb higher in the sky in lazy circles, wings catching the updrift until it disappeared from view. 

Nearly two weeks passed before he received word from her. More than once he scolded himself for pacing the floor like a worried old woman, but he couldn't help it. It felt that way, at least. He'd dragged one of the chairs outside to the front area, a block of wood and a whittling knife in his hand, lap dusted with shavings from uninterrupted hours of fiddling. Scrimshaw and whittling settled his mind, if only for a time being. 

Kaidan nearly flew out of his chair when he heard the familiar keen of a hawk cry, his heart soaring as high as he watched the bird spiral downward in a slow descent. Impatiently, eagerly, he waited until it had settled on its perch, rewarding the creature with fresh meat and time to rest, messenger tube already in his hands, work forgotten on the chair outside. 

_ I am well. _

_ There are some things I've discovered that I feel I should rather share with you in person, as even I am having a hard time comprehending them myself. _

_ My progress in learning the language of the dragons has proceeded faster than I originally anticipated. There are only a few discrepancies in translating it to Tamrelic, and I get the feeling that having the dragonblood has aided me in my education. For the most part, I am fluent in speaking in, but hard translation of words and texts seems to take me more time. Yes, the Greybeards are kind to me. There is no need to worry about them. Borri, Wulfgar, and Einarth are simply unable to speak, but rather Shout, so it is dangerous for them to do so. Borri is kind to me, and has assisted in my studies multiple times. I'm curious if he himself enjoys the change of company. _

_ For what I have learned, however... I am not sure if I should describe it as good, bad, or... _

_ It troubles me. That should be enough explanation. _

_ Delphine can get eaten by a dragon for all I care. If she sends a letter, write back and tell her to shove it. _

_ Finding the Word Walls are difficult. I was able to learn how to locate them by careful instruction (and probably much frustration to both myself and Arngeir) and meditation. Yes, meditation. It's much more grueling than you might think. Physically, and mentally. There are so many of them across Skyrim that it's incredibly difficult to pick them apart and find an approximate location on my map. It's a lot like... hundreds of insects buzzing around you at once, and you're tasked to find the one that is slightly higher pitched than the rest of them. Or a heavy fog that obscures your mind, and you must find a single candle through all of the mist. _

_ Kai, I wish you could see the sunrises here. Too many mornings I've found myself awake and restless before the sun is coloring the horizon, so I find myself wandering the courtyard and climbing the small tower that's out here. _

_ The sky is a painting ever-changing. I will not describe it in this letter, because I feel as if I would be unable to do it the justice it deserves. _

_ I mean this in the politest way, but I will ask that you do not send any more letters for the time being. It is not something that you've done, I promise. It's the fact that I'm going to need every bit of my concentration to find the remaining Word Walls and finishing compiling my research. _

_ Give me four weeks. Send the hawk back up at the end of that time, and I will send word on when I am coming down the mountainside. I hope, I hope for your sake and mine, and that I've done my research wrong, and what I think is happening isn't at all true. _

_ Amalia._

Four weeks. Four weeks waiting for her to finish what she went up there to do in the first place. Four weeks of waiting to find out what troubled her to the point that she wouldn't bother to write it in her letters. 

Four weeks. 

He couldn't sit around here that long with nothing to do. 

The days passed, slowly. But they passed. 

It was the 18th of Sun's Dusk when he finally set the hawk loose towards the mountain. It carried no letter with it, rather, a gift wrapped in cloth, an ornament strung on a leather cord, carved in the likeness of a bird of prey. 

It was the 24th of Sun's Dusk when their feathered messenger return, bearing not a letter, but a hastily scrawled note. 

_I've been up here for too long. Be in Ivarstead in two days time. I will be down the path before the sun sets on the second night. _

She was coming down. He never would have thought he'd be so excited to see her again. 

**_______________________________________________________________________**

She was not the Amalia he remembered. 

Kaidan couldn't help himself when his gaze kept flickering over her form, watching while she rested in a chair by the fire. There were shadows under her eyes that were far worse than when they'd first begun to travel together, when she'd barely slept in the week that the dragon attack occurred.

When all of this started. 

She wasn't wearing her healer's robes that she'd left with, instead sporting the green hued Greybeard robes that she'd mentioned in her previous letter, hanging loosely off a diminished frame. The tone of her skin was drastically paler, and even in the low light of the inn, he could see the way blue-green veins passed close to the surface of her skin, leaving her with nothing less of a sickly appearance that would rival the dead. 

This was not the Amalia he remembered, no. 

He waited for her at the bridge of the town, horses tethered nearby and whinnying softly at both the strangeness and familiarity they knew. When she met his gaze, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a smile that didn't meet her eyes. The usual spark in her demeanor seemed long gone, and when she finally stood face to face with him, it felt as if she wasn't entirely there. Even her voice was cracked and raw when she mustered the energy to greet him. 

"_Ahnok,_ Kaidan. Did you miss me?"

He couldn't return her greeting. Not when he stood rooted to his spot, lips parted in astonishment at the fragile looking woman before him. She watched him silently as a myriad of expressions flickered across his features, not missing the way his temper flared in anger with the tightening of his fists, letting him settle into sheer disbelief while he struggled to find the words. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile that didn't meet her actions, and she brushed passed him when she deemed that he took to long to answer her to settle her hands on either side of Cinnamon's muzzle, cooing gently at the gelding. 

When Amalia tried to mount her horse by herself, it was only just barely that she succeeded. But her balance was not with her. Kaidan had to catch her when she toppled sideways. The mage had grunted when her head connected with his breastplate, limbs going limp and unmoving against him. 

She'd fucking knocked herself out on his armor. 

Kaidan was quick to bark orders at the innkeeper when he stormed in with her thrown over his shoulder. He'd suffer through the questions and the odd looks if it meant getting her settled into a bed for the night and _not passed out in his arms_ for Kyne's sake! Well, that is until she was quick to rouse and weakly flail in his grasp so he'd deposit her in the nearest chair, pushing her back into the seat while she protested about wanting to go home. He was exasperated as they argued, a mindless back and forth as she tried (and failed) to convince him to tie her to her own horse just so they could head back to her cabin. Had she not looked like she'd been dragged through the snow for days on end, he might've agreed to her bossy tone despite the fact there was no force behind her words. 

The innkeeper with a name that vaguely sounded like the northern city of Stormcloaks came to them bearing a bowl of broth and bread, offering the room for the night at the usual fare, the swordsman accepting it quietly and cursing inwardly for not entirely remembering his name. He'd get to that later on. 

"Amalia, we're not debating this. You're going to at least get a decent meal and sleep in a bed for the night before we start traveling. In case you aren't aware, you look like shit."

She pouted, _pouted_ for fuck sake, her voice small as she protested. "But I want to go home..." 

"No."

"But--"

"I said no," he snapped. "I'll throw you on the bed if I have too if it means getting you to sleep."

The mage let her face screw up in annoyance, fixating him with a glare. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

To say the tension in the air was thick could have been an understatement, considering the attention of every patron in the tavern was on them. Amalia seemed intent on not giving a damn, the spark of determination in her eyes clashing with his own sour look until he finally relented, muttering under his breath as he stomped out the door. Well. At least now the entirety of the town wouldn't have seen the flush that'd traveled up his neck at her comment.

He swore to all the gods that she'd be the death of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The library mentioned in the previous chapter is the Thunderchild mod, which expands on dragon shouts considerably.
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated as always.


	12. Mara's Sake, Dibella's Mischief *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied suicide mention in the first part of the chapter.
> 
> All forthcoming chapters with NSFW themes will be marked *
> 
> This is my first time writing smut, so... let me know how I did?

"You've been quiet." 

He wasn't wrong. Amalia cradled a cup of tea in her hands, letting her legs dangle over the overhang they were seated on that looked out on Lake Ilinalta. Her journal lay on her lap, page flipped open to where her handwriting flowed across the page, notes taken during her time on the mountain. Kaidan had taken a seat next to her, drawing a whetstone across his blade. 

"Aye."

"Care to share?"

In the last week or so, the mage was beginning to recover from her time away from civilization. Kaidan had taken to cooking for a little while, and although some of the bread was burnt and the stew a tad watery, Amalia ate without a complaint, letting herself recline into her furs. In the first few days, he'd let her rest, handing her books at her request, only to find that she'd fallen asleep with it against her chest or let the book slid off to the side. She'd slept a lot, and he let her. In her letters she expressed her dislike on the method of how she was to go about finding the Word Walls she needed. It really didn't occur to him just how draining that meditation could have been. The Greybeards had been up on that mountain for years, and knowing her well enough, she'd managed to locate a decent number of them, or convince Arngier to help her find him all at once. 

But back to the matter at hand, he paused in his actions, looking towards her, waiting for an answer. His curiosity was getting the better of him. 

Amalia was slow to start in her explanation. "There's... a prophecy. _Possibly_ regarding me." She shook her head, hair falling around her face unbound. "As far as I can tell, the prophecy itself is said to come from an Elder Scroll, but there are records indicating that it's Akaviri in nature. How much do you know of the Akaviri?"

"Uh. Not a lot, to be honest, other than the fact that they used to be a part of the Emperor's personal guard."

"Reman I, yes. Akaviri were originally invaders on Tamriel, and Reman stopped them. He was Dragonborn too, you know? When they-the Akavir-found out he was Dragonborn, they surrendered and asked that they become protectors for him. Eventually it led to the creation of the Blades, but that's a story for another time. The prophecy..." Trailing off, Amalia frowned into her tea, making a displeased sound when she found it to have gone cold. 

"The prophecy goes something like this:

_When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world_

_ When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_

_ When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

_ When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding. _

_ The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn." _

By now she'd set her cup aside and thumbed through her journal, trying to locate some odd written note in earlier pages. 

"Some of the lines make sense, but others don't. The Towers refer to many things, but specifically 'high' points in society, or important landmarks. The White Tower is pretty obvious, the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. The Snow Tower is... I think it's the Throat of the World. It makes sense, at least to me, since... Since King Torygg's death, Skyrim is kingless. I don't know what the Brass Tower is. I can't seem to find it referenced anywhere, unless it's something by another name. I have to do more research on it, but I may need to visit the College of Winterhold, or Solitude. If I can convince the Jarl to let me have access to the library, of course.

"But the part that concerns me the most is... Well. I'm Dragonborn. What if I'm the last? Am I suppose to fight the World-Eater? Alduin?"

They both fell into silence then. Snapping her journal shut, Amalia shoved it away from her, leaning forward with her face in her hands, groaning lowly in her chest. "Shor's balls, I thought I was done with fighting! Just let me retire, for fuck sake! Now? Now I get twisted up in some stupid prophecy and I have to go deal with the firstborn of Akatosh. Thank you, oh father Akatosh, for making me deal with your brat of a child! Just--just fucking great, you know? Maybe if I just off myself, he can go find someone else to bestow the dragon blood onto because I'm not entirely sure this is what I want to do." 

Kaidan looked startled at the outburst, his mouth opening to protest. "You'd really consider... you'd consider killing yourself so you don't have to deal with this? Don't you think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself Amai? This prophecy could have nothing to do with you, for all you know. And I don't think that Shor would allow those who-"

Amalia waved her hand dismissively at him, her brow furrowed in frustration. "Shor doesn't allow cowards into the Halls of Valor, I know. I wouldn't be able to go to Sovengarde." 

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"... I don't know, Kai. I'm tired. There's a lot to consider with... all this. And you could be right, as well. The prophecy may not be about me. But it does seem awfully convenient timing, yea? No Dragonborn for a long time, and then, whoops. Here I am. Just... an ex-soldier turned healer. Certainly not the warrior stock that legends are made of." 

"If it's any consolation, I'd say you're warrior material when you managed to take down not one, but _two_ dragons. Ex-soldier or not, watching the way your magicka lashes out as an extension of you is pretty damn impressive, and more so that you can kill a dragon with it." 

She made a disbelieving noise, the corner of her mouth turning up in a barest hint of a smile that betrayed her behavior. "They're tough bastards, don't get me wrong. It takes a lot to take them down. That's part of why I went down at the Whiterun Tower the first time. The dragon soul hitting me like a sack of stones didn't help either." 

"What does it feel like?" 

"What?"

"The soul. When it hits you. And the Word Walls. When we first got through Bleak Falls Barrow and you went to the wall there, it was as if you fell into a trace."

"... you didn't hear the chanting? Or see the light from the runes?"

"Uh, no? All I knew about those word walls is that they're usually some sort of a memorial. Never heard about them being magic." 

Amalia shook her head. "It felt like the light was reaching out to me, and the stones themselves were speaking. It was... strange. But it didn't hurt. The dragon souls though, those hurt. It's... an internal pain, sort of. Like everything is stretching out and everything suddenly feels... heavier. I can feel the emotions of the dragon when its soul comes to me. The first one, at the watchtower? It was disbelief, mostly. That I was Dragonborn. Then fear, then hatred. So much hatred." 

"Is that why you didn't want to talk after Kynesgrove?" 

"Aye. The dragon, Sahloknir, he felt like... betrayal. That he died so quickly after he was resurrected. Don't think I'm crazy saying this, but I do feel remorse for him. Not a lot, since he tried to eat me, but that's not really important. I just--ugh." 

Shoving herself to her feet, the woman paced across the ground, worrying the nail of her thumb against her teeth. When she paused, her leg bounced incessantly. 

"I'm going to have to start wearing my armor again," she confided. "Hopefully, it still fits, but I suppose I can always take it to Eorlund to have it re-fitted, and I'll need to go to--"

"Amalia." 

She froze, turning to him. 

"One thing at a time." Standing as well, Kaidan shook his head, gently taking her by the elbow to lead her towards the cabin. "Start by showing me the map first. You wanted to learn more Shouts, so we should plan how we're going to go about getting to each Word Wall. We can worry about the rest after that. Sound fair?" 

"I--yea. That's fair. You're right. I can... I can make a list. So I don't get scrambled up." An inhale, an exhale. "Okay. We can do this. One thing at a time." 

**____________________________________________________________**

"There's how many locations left to find?" 

Setting her mouth into a thin line, Amalia was bent over the table, hands spread on either side of the map with a grim expression across her face. "Forty three. Forty five in total, but we've taken care of Bleak Falls Barrow and Ustengrav. There are others outside of Skyrim, but I couldn't focus enough to get them, somewhere off to the North-East." 

"Solsthiem, then. Whole place is covered in ash. Not a lot to do there either. But that doesn't matter right now, we can find the ones that are here in Skyrim, and we decide later if you want to take a ship over to see if you want to try and locate the rest." 

"Fair. For now, we'll stay in the southern half of Skyrim, start our search in Riften and move west from there, then north, and back east across. I get the sneaking suspicion that we'll not be able to get to some of the Word Walls. Which..." Trailing off, Amalia made a disgusted noise. "I'd rather get there, clear out some draugr, and keep going."

"Aren't you forgetting something? Or someone, for that matter?"

Realization dawned across her face before falling into a glower, cursing to no one but herself. "Delphine," she hissed. "I did forget. Fine, fine! We go to her first, see what she wants, take care of it, _then_ go find all the Word Walls." 

Kaidan shook his head, chuckling. "Are you always this angry?" 

"Only when I've got a Breton bitch riding my ass about Thalmor business. I should be alright to start traveling again, Riverwood isn't far in the first place." Amalia pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "Suppose we can head to Whiterun afterward to take care of some things..." 

**____________________________________________________________**

"The next party isn't until Saturalia Eve. Had you not decided to take yourself a trip up the mountain, there was an earlier gathering you could have gone too, but I suppose that's none of my business. We're only trying to figure out what the Thalmor know about dragons." It was Delphine's turn to be irritable, jaw tight when she looked up towards the mage. 

Amalia let the barely veiled insult roll of her shoulders like thunder. "Yes, you're correct. What I do in my own time is none of your business. Just get me the invitation to the party, and I'll be in Solitude a week beforehand to prepare everything needed. I can trust this Malborn fellow?"

"Yes. Typically he isn't up for these kind of high risk missions, but he's got plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor."

"The purges in Valenwood. I recall hearing about those when I was--nevermind, that doesn't matter. What does matter is that he can get my equipment into the Embassy. Am I suppose to be discreet about getting those documents, or...?" 

"You could burn the whole damned place to the ground for all I care. I just need you out of there in one piece." 

With that, there was a pause in the conversation before Amalia nodded once, deeming their discussion over. Kaidan had made himself busy observing the tiny room, and followed at her heels when she moved to go back upstairs. 

Kiai and Cinnamon were tethered to the railing outside, nosing at a patch of frost-hardened grass near the stairs. The woman wouldn't admit it, but she'd grown affectionate to the tawny colored gelding, patting his nose gently when she led him towards the road. She also wouldn't admit that's she'd snuck outside a few times in the middle of the night in an attempt to practice mounting her own horse. She already had enough grief with Kaidan teasing her about knocking herself out against his armor. So with a little more grace than normal, she swung herself into the saddle, setting their pace at an easy trot down the path. 

Whiterun may have only been a few miles away, but she was eager for a bath that wasn't in a lake for once. The Bannered Mare was lucky enough to have a copper tub stored away in a side room, and Saadia (bless her, honestly) managed to convince Hulda to build an additional bathing room at the back of the inn. A second set of doors is a good deterrent for prying eyes.

It was a nice day as well, she noted absently. The sun was beginning to creep into the afternoon hours, sky cloud free and breezy enough to carry the scent of the city's wood fires across the open fields. 

It felt strange to be back in her armor again, her healer's robes tucked away in her wardrobe at the cabin, put away for some unknown amount of time. If Alduin's return was truly at hand, then the life she'd been working towards for a few years now meant absolutely nothing until the crisis was averted. Or resolved, for that matter. She herself wasn't able to admire the armor for lack of a looking glass, but Kaidan had plenty of time to do so now, and previously. It did hang a little large on her form, he'd remarked, but she was already recovering from the exhausting tasks she'd put herself through at High Hrothgar. He was amazed, if not a bit jealous, for how quickly she seemed to bounce back from her ailments. 

He had whistled in admiration when she finally let him back inside to see the result. Initially he thought it was an odd combination, a mixture of plate armor and mage robes blended into one style, but considering she might've been on the front lines in this armor, he shut up with any comment he might've had. The plating itself was ebony, a traditional segmented breastplate to allow movement and flexibility in a fight, segments of the metal extending across her sides and back to leave little room for weak points in the armor. Underneath the plating lay robes of silk and treated cotton, layers of it draping across her hips as skirts and across her shoulders as a makeshift cape. What the robes and plating couldn't cover was protected by finely crafted ebony ringmail. 

But the bit that caught his eye the most was the swathe of fabric that seemed to shimmer in the light, violets, dark blues, and silvers blended together in the cloth that extended from one shoulder to the opposite hip. When he asked about it, the woman was happy to confide with him that it was the mark of a storm mage. Each element in the destruction school had their respective colors. Reds, oranges, yellows, and golds for fire magicka, and light blues, whites, blacks, and silver for ice mages. It was easier to keep track of the mages that way, she'd said. Magicka users in other schools had their own uniforms and markings as well, but she couldn't remember them off the top of her head. To top it all off, the entirety of the ensemble held the subtle glow of enchantments. 

Kaidan also didn't miss the damage that was in the plating of her armor against her stomach. He supposed she'd tried to hide the damage there by wrapping a bit of excess cloth around her middle, but it'd since shifted in their riding, revealing a hole that needed a desperate repair. His curiosity got the better of him. 

"I'm guessing that's not standard issue Imperial armor?" 

"Ah... No, it's not. I had it commissioned once I was promoted to Praefect rank. Cost me a shiny Septim too, not a lot of Nordic armor smiths are willing to create something that had mage elements to it." 

"And the enchantments?"

Amalia huffed out a laugh. "What don't you notice? I had those done by a master enchanter I'd met in my travels a while back, so long as I provided the soul gems for it. Bloody difficult to get grand souls gems, and let alone get them filled. Each piece has something different, and they're all double enchanted. Not going to lie, that alone took several months work of my already meager soldier's pay. Worth every gold piece I had though, it's saved my hide a decent number of times." 

"But it didn't stop that hole getting ripped in your armor." It slipped out before he could stop himself. Immediately the woman's face dropped into a mask of impassiveness, dropping one hand from the reins to wrap an arm around her middle and effectively cover the flaw. Kaidan grimaced then, feeling like an ass. "Just--That's a hard hit to take for it to pierce through ebony plating and enchantments." 

"It was," she conceded. "And I'd really rather not talk about it."

There was that wall she'd put up again, an emotional shutdown when either of them mentioned something that seemed to bring up bad memories and a whole lot of regret along with that. And he knew the feeling of it as well. More than once he'd brushed off her questions on the road until he couldn't ignore them anymore, and by the gods was she persistent in finding out what she wanted to know. He didn't know if she wanted space, or silence, or for him to completely bugger off in the other direction, pulling Kiai up alongside Cinnamon and glancing towards his companion. Her face remained stony and blank as she stared forward at nothing. 

Silence it was then. At least Dragonsreach towered in the near distance. A bottle of mead would do them both good. 

She'd been quick to leave him at the Bannered Mare a short time later, claiming she had business with the court wizard and promptly disappearing before he could ask what that business entailed. Disgruntled, Kaidan waved Hulda over to secure a room for the night and order himself an ale and an early dinner. Knowing her, she'd be away for at least a few hours. 

True enough, she returned when the sun had begun to set, patrons filtering in after their long days of work, looking happy to find solace in a warm meal and cold drink. He'd looked up when the door opened for how ever many times it'd done so that night, bottle raised to his mouth to regard whoever the newest addition was. It was Amalia, out of her armor and wearing a common green dress that bared more skin than her robes or breastplate ever had, and he was surprised to find that it fit her rather well. But that wasn't what claimed his attention, no. 

An Amulet of Mara. It rested against her chest, its turquoise center glinting in the firelight of the tavern. Kaidan spit out his drink in surprise.

The woman found him easily enough through the crowd. Despite how busy the main room of the inn had gotten, the table he occupied was only taken by him, the other two seats gone either unnoticed or avoided by the townsfolk. At least her mood seemed to have improved, taking a seat with him and calling Saadia over to order her own meal. 

"If you keep glaring at everyone who walks through that door so hard, no one is going to want to approach you, Kai." Chuckling, she dropped a few coins in the Redguard's hand and turned her attention back towards him. "And seeing as how you got started without me, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a bottle of mead or two... What, cat got your tongue?" 

"You're wearing an Amulet of Mara?" He blurted. "I had no idea you were looking for marriage." 

"Marriage?" The mage scoffed, murmuring a passing thanks when a bowl of stew was set in front of her. "What do you mean? I've been wearing this for a while now." 

Swallowing hard, he set his ale on the table. "I would have expected a Nord like you to know that the amulet is worn by those who are trying to show they're in the market for a husband or wife." 

"Kaidan, I'm a _healer_. The amulet helps my restoration magic. Though, I suppose I've had it hidden for some time, since I normally have it tucked under my robes..." 

"Well, maybe we should find you a new talisman, if you're not looking for potential lovers to steal you away." 

She snorted loudly. "Please, I think with this whole Dragonborn business, I'd be too busy to find a lover. But I'll keep that in mind, if it bothers you so much." 

Mikael was no where to be found tonight, a trio of traveling bards having strung up a lively tune in the opposite corner of the room, merry enough that patrons had begun to pair up into groups, benches and tables hastily shoved out of the way to create space for a dance. For all the fuss, he might have figured it to be a Fredas night, but it was hard to keep track of the days anymore. Perhaps he'd ask Hulda about it later. For now he was content to watch the crowd wind itself up into a frenzy, hooting and hollering in their joy as folks linked arms with one another, the very floorboards shaking as they stepped in time with the music and with one another. 

Amalia had scooted her chair around to watch the crowd as well, eyes flickering across the mass of bodies that celebrated to their hearts content, startling when a Nordic man with bright eyes broke away from the crowd to approach her. He was barely out of his teens and too young for her personal taste, barely giving her time to protest when he grabbed her by the hand and practically dragged her into the fray. Kaidan could only chuckle to himself at the baffled look she'd shot towards him before disappearing to join the dance. 

Yet there was an unfamiliar pull in his chest, eyes narrowing as she watched her link arms with the Nordic stranger, her nervous laughter mixing with the din of the tavern as she was swept up into the chaos of it all. 

_You're jealous, aren't you? Watching the woman who saved your life and admitted to wearing that amulet for months while she was with you, just barely tucked out of sight. _

Jealous? No, he didn't think so. He'd been surprised when he saw the amulet, but it did make sense considering her profession. If she wasn't looking for marriage, then he wouldn't pursue. It wasn't his business, nor did he have the right to do so, given his debt to her. He blew a breath from his nose. 

Perhaps it was frustration in watching her be unwillingly whisked off into the dance, but there didn't seem to be too much of a need to intervene at the moment. She could handle herself, and he knew that all too well. So he force his face into a mask of impassiveness, letting his eyes flickered across the room once again. He didn't miss the way other patrons had their own gazes focused on him, flitting once toward Amalia before eyes were cast downward or finding more interesting things in the bottoms of their cups. 

The music began to wind to a stop. Once more he found himself looking towards Amalia and the stranger she'd been dancing with, a rosy flush across her cheeks. Whether it was from the exertion of sudden activity, or the chaste kiss that the Nord pressed against her knuckles, it made her blush fiercely nonetheless, lips parting to reply to whatever request he had made to her. The remark was disregarded, and she pulled away from the crowd, resigning to lock herself away from the night. A bath seemed like an easy enough way to do that. 

Bloody Nords and bloody Amulets of Mara. 

**__________________________________________________________________**

_Gods, a decent bath does wonders for the muscles. _Sinking lower into the copper tub, magicka swirled around the mage's hands, an uncast fire spell heating the water around her to near boiling, leaving her skin flushed and pink. Nord she may be, Amalia enjoyed the benefits of a scathing bath. A lukewarm bath in the cold north did nothing to help with the chill that settled in her bones when she traveled for too long. 

There was a guilty tinge for leaving Kaidan alone in the main room by himself. She'd had a few too many drinks, the air pleasantly swimming around her head when she finally stumbled out of her chair towards the bathing room, and their conversation left her mind muddle and drifting to... 

Amalia slid lower into the tub, blowing bubbles to rise to the surface. 

It'd been far too long since she had company of the intimate type. 

A glance was thrown towards the door. The crowd was still plenty rowdy, noise and light filtering in from under the crack, effectively drowning out everything on the other side. A little bit of relief wouldn't hurt, would it? 

... 

_Fuck it._

She slid her hands along her sides, fingers splaying against her ribs. A frown passed over her face when she realized just how clearly she could feel the way the skin pulled across her bones. Mara, her time in isolation did a number on her body. Pushing the thought aside roughly, the woman let her hands wander idly, conjuring up images of faceless lovers in her mind. 

_Feather light touches ghosting against her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Murmured encouragement in her ear, a lover leaning over her shoulder, the slight drag of nails shooting shivers of anticipation up her spine, sparks exploding across her nerves. _

A gentle sigh echoed in the room. Amalia let her hands drift lower, kneading impatiently into the flesh of her thighs, eager to chase her pleasure. Too long it'd been, she knew that, and she was rather displeased at that matter. Taking her time tonight may be the only time she'd get again in a while. Her breath shuddered, tracing the space between her breast down to her legs.

_An attentive lover, at that, pressing kisses along her neck and shoulders, making her giggle at the pressure of teeth nipping along, soothed by the brush of lips and heated breath. Hands traveled downward, smoothing over her arms, across her ribs and sides, teasing persistently until she cursed, thighs coming together to ease the growing pressure at her core. She was finally rewarded with what she sought, a low groan rumbling from her chest. _

That low groan did slip from her when her hands finally found their mark. Knees shifting apart, Amalia huffed a laugh, dipping her fingers into her already slick folds, relishing the way static fuzzed her mind at the contact and made the room spin. Whether that was the alcohol or the lust-riddled thoughts, she couldn't really give a damn. 

_The low voice in her ear made her whine pitifully, pressing her hips forward, seeking friction, seeking the touch of her lover, anything to drive her over the edge, anything to--_

_ "Look at how wet you are for me. Do you pleasure yourself thinking about me, or are you so needy that you have to think of others to get you off?" _

Her hips shook as her fingers circled that sensitive nub above her core. Unwittingly, lightning magicka sparked across her hand, digging the heel of her palm against the bundle of nerves. So close, so close she was, a little more encouragement to send her careening over the peak, please, _please--_

"Amai?" 

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub when the woman dunked herself in surprise, sputtering when she came up air and inadvertently growling in frustration at the sudden intrusion. 

"What!" She barked sharply. "Dibella's tits, what do you want!" Her face burned as she turned towards her unwanted visitor, grateful for the screen that divided the small room. 

"I..." Kaidan's voice. Cursing inwardly to herself at the hesitation, the woman smoothed her wet hair back against her scalp, reaching for a robe to wrap herself in. "That Nord from earlier was looking for you. Pretty persistent too, so I thought--"

"You thought you'd check on me? I _can _handle myself, Kaidan." She sighed. "I appreciate it, but a you scared the lights out of me. Couldn't you have knocked next time?" 

Another pause. "I did knock. You didn't answer." 

_Oh. Probably because I was a bit preoccupied at the time trying to-_

"I must not have heard you. Would you mind, though? I'd like to finish my bath."

He was quick to apologize and close the door behind him. She hated being that blunt, that annoyed with him, but she had the distinct feeling there was a certain frustration mixed in with that, leaving her to only sigh and climb back into the tub. The water was cooling rapidly, and she wasn't going to waste anymore magicka for the night, so the mage resigned to scrubbing her skin nearly raw to rid the exhaustion of travels. The crowd outside was finally beginning to disperse and go home in the late evening. Shortly after a majority of the townfolk went home, Amalia hauled herself out of cold water to fall into a bed for the night. 

She'd ignored the empty hollowness of want that remained in her core, and so desperately tried to convince herself that the voice in her daydreams didn't belong to a familiar swordsman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated as always. My chapters are coming out slower because I'm actually trying to work on them this time instead of bang em out.


	13. Bloody Knuckles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not non-con if she asks for it. No smut this chapter, just Kaidan and Amalia beating the lights out of each other. Sexual tension is fun. :)

The steady roar of the waterfall occupied the empty space of silence. They'd set up camp for the night, having descended into darkness far sooner than anticipated, the leeward side of the mountain casting a dark shadow across the woods, cicadas screaming in the pine trees that dotted the landscape. Their little refuge sat just off the winding road the lead off to Ivarstead, a rocky outcrop overhanging the cascades nearby, having decidedly stopped at the massive felled tree that stretched across the banks. Kaidan swore he nearly died of shock when Amalia when scrambling over the moss-slicked wood to the other side with ease. 

But they sat now with a little fire crackling between them. The mage had taken to stringing her hammock up between two trees, letting her leg gently swing to rock her resting place in comfort. He'd asked her why she enjoyed the curious bedding so much, and she answered honestly: the feeling of being weightless let her focus on magicka regeneration. Let spaces for her body to touch, so less likely she was to get distracted at the feeling of a stone digging into her back. 

That led to a string of other questions. Truthfully, the man was a little uneasy that he really didn't know much about his companion, considering the secrets he'd already shared with her. Aside from the Dragonborn and ex-soldier business, that is. Amalia was happy enough to oblige, filling in the little details she felt fit while telling her story. That her parents wanted her to be a bard, to make a name for herself. Describing the little apple orchard they owned in Rorikstead, and how her younger brother and sister each closely resembled their parents. Kormskyr and Elidis, she confided, younger by eight and five years respectively. 

She wondered outloud if they knew yet of the news of the Dragonborn returning. It made sense if they did, but part of her hoped that the rumors hadn't spread with her name. Amalia was convinced her ma would have a heart attack if she ever found out. And if she also found out just how she'd been removed from the army, and just what her reaction would entail to her change in profession. Kaidan laughed at the mock-pained noise she made thinking about all that. 

But the questions weren't a one way exchange, no. The mage had shot back mundane questions that she felt were fair that ranged anywhere from asking what his favorite stew was to the most beautiful place he'd visited (in his opinion, at least). It kept them entertained into the late hours of the night, letting the fire burn into embers, the lull of sleep pulling on the consciousness of them both. Her eyes were close when he called her name, answering with a little hum. 

"How'd your armor get damaged anyway?"

"Impaled," Amalia said bluntly. "Hurt like Oblivion too." 

"Sorry, impaled? How?"

Cracking one eye open, she fixated her gaze on him in the near dark. "That doesn't much matter, Kaidan. I'm alive aren't I?" 

He pushed himself up on his elbow. "You've got a scar from it then?" 

"Aye." 

"Would you show me?" 

"...what?" 

"You've seen my scars. I'm curious to know about yours." 

Amalia snorted, unamused. "Or you're looking for an excuse to see me naked, aren't you?" 

"I wouldn't complain, if that's what your asking." 

Making a disgruntled noise, she peeling a bit of bark off the pine tree she was strung up in, chucking towards his general direction, rather unintentionally hitting her mark when he protested loudly. "I've seen your scars because I saved your ass from dying. Twice. Or 'ave you got something else to be snarky about?" 

"Alright, alright. Point taken." 

"Besides, you'd have to at least buy me dinner first." 

Surprise, then a shit-eating grin plastered his face at her statement. "Is that an offer?" 

"Just stating the obvious." 

"Didn't know you had it in you to flirt." 

"_Idle conversation_, Kaidan. Call it what you want if it makes you feel better." 

They both grew quiet again. The constant drone of water against the rocks was doing its best to put him to sleep, but he remained sitting up on his elbows, looking out towards the open sky. He was almost convinced Amalia had fallen asleep when she shuffled her her hammock to lay on her side facing him, but the slow steadiness of breath wasn't audible to him. More than once had she fallen asleep before he did, and he was both amused and content to listen to her when she snored softly.

Not that he'd ever tell her that. 

So when she sat up a little in her hammock, he let his gaze focus on her form in the dying light, the stars overhead mute in their shining and providing no help. 

"Have you ever thought about marriage?" 

"Been thinking on that question for a long time, weren't you?" 

"I'm not the only one whose been quiet, you know." 

"Alright," he sighed. "Everyone has at some point, haven't they? But I don't think I'll be takin' an arrow in the knee anytime soon. With my upbringing, I don't really know how I'd fit into a picture of domestic bliss... being a good husband, raising a family."

"You think not?" The curiosity in her voice was evident. "You're protective and loyal. The role would fit you well."

"Aye? Well, you've shown pretty good judgement in the past. Time will tell." 

"I'm surprise you're not taken," she quietly admitted. 

"Must be my sparkling personality. Truth is, quiver is easy enough to come by, but I've got my sights set higher than that." 

He did jump this time when the sound of a spell flared to life. A twinkling mage light erupted above her head, and he grunted when it blinded him momentarily. Kaidan looked up to find Amalia staring at him incredulously, her voice exasperated. 

"... quiver, really?" 

"Well what would you rather me say?" 

Amalia did laugh at that, the mage light following her when she rolled over to regard him. "Okay, then your sights are set on who then?"

Sheepishly, he shook his head. "Ah, it's... nothing. Never mind it." 

She cocked an eyebrow. "You ever been in love?"

So she was playing this game now? It seemed as if every question that he asked her that might've dug into her personal life was deflected away too quickly, to easily, the subject changed and topic lost. But if playing her game meant he'd eventually find out a little more about her, he was willing. "I thought I was once or twice, when I was a little younger and a lot stupider. There was a noble girl I was sweet on when I was a lad but she married off to some courtier. Another lass later on turned out to be..." His face shifted into something she couldn't quite read. Anger? Regret? "Trouble. Lust, or infatuation it might've been, but I wouldn't call it love. But what about you? Ever been shot with that arrow?" 

That moment of anger passed so quickly that Amalia could never be sure it was there had his tone not indicated otherwise. He was quick to tamper down emotions that could get out of control. 

"I have been, yea. Didn't end well though." 

"Need me to kill 'em?" Kaidan didn't notice her flinch. "Ah, get that look off your face. I was kidding. Mostly." 

"He's already dead," she said flatly. 

Awkward silence spanned the distance between them. He felt like a right ass just then, the guilt of the look on her face making his heart seize in his chest. Just then the mage light flickered out, casting them into darkness. The man stumbled over his own words to correct himself. 

"Shit, I didn't mean--" 

"I know that," she interrupted. "It's been a long time since it's happened. The past is in the past, and I'd rather keep it that way." 

Kaidan cursed inwardly, the noise of her shuffling in her hammock to settle down the only thing between them. Discontent, he rolled over in his furs, wanting to slap himself for his words. Damned if he didn't feel like an idiot for that, but how was he to know when she shared so little about herself? If he wanted to learn anything, he'd have to be patient, he realized. And considering it seemed like she wanted to dragged him across Skyrim looking for World Walls, he figured he'd have plenty of time. 

**_______________________________________________________________**

Passing through Ivarstead would have been uneventful save for the fact that they'd flushed out the Dunmer asshole from Shroud Hearth Barrow who'd taken up a hobby of scaring the townspeople looking like a spirit. He at least was dispatched easily enough and his journal turned over to Wilhem in the tavern.

Amalia took to admiring the sapphire dragon claw in the daylight, awed by the way it glittered when in caught the sun. She'd kept the gold claw, now tucked away safely in the chest at her cabin. Kaidan got the feeling this one would be joining the collection as well. 

The tomb was easy enough to crawl through, despite the traps. He couldn't help the sharp intake of breath when she jerked backwards from a swinging blade, the way she dropped into a crouch and scooted across to the other side baffling him. She was deadly on a battlefield, yes, but he never expected to be to light on her feet in the way she moved, disabling the traps with ease, motioning him forward with a little flick of her hand. 

Not to mention the fun she seemed to be having in using the traps to her advantage. The pit of flaming skeleton bones was amusing, but watching a skeleton shatter and scatter into pieces by way of a battering ram and a carefully placed footstep was far more entertaining. 

More than once the mage grumbled something about puzzles being trivial, hand outcast and flaring with a lightning spell that burned the draugr on the other side of the newly dropped bridge to a crisp. 

It got worse from there. 

Wide open spaces in a tomb were never a good thing, and the fact that the metal bars of a gate slammed shut between them and effectively separated them... 

Skeletons? She could handle those. The draugr that sent her flying backwards with a Shout? That was a bit more difficult. Casting was dangerous in enclosed spaces, and more than once she managed to just barely dive out of the way of a swinging axe. Two seconds too late did she miss the shield hurtling at her face. Amalia heard the crunch before she felt the pain, choking as blood poured down her throat and her face, the sound of shouting barely registering in her brain before instinct and spells flared to life and all hell broke loose. 

Kaidan practically sprinted towards her as soon as the gate gave budge. 

She leaned forward across the table that was centered in the middle of the room, tears streaming down her face and trying to quell the stunned gasps that left her unable to move just yet, letting blood splatter on the stone surface below her. Like Oblivion that hurt, but she was too startled to assess if she'd actually broken it or not. 

"Shit. That looks bad, do you need a potion?" 

The mage waved him off. Still in far too much pain to talk, she raised her hand to her face and hissed when her fingers brushed against the bridge of her nose. It didn't feel broken, at least. That was good sign. The familiar golden glow of a healing spell encompassing her hand, the flow of blood ceasing. 

"'M okay," she slurred. "We need to get to the Word Wall and leave. Wilhem owes me a mead for this."

"I should have--"

"Shhh." Amalia wasn't about to hear it from him. There was nothing he could have done to get that gate back open, and she knew he was blaming himself for letting her get injured. _Fuck sake,_ she thought. _This man is loyal to a damned fault. _"It's done. The draugr are dead. Can we please just get the fuck out of here?" 

**________________________________________________**

Their next venture wasn't much better. 

Mostly because of the dragon. 

The big, pissed off, fire-breathing dragon who quite frankly had a massive stick up its ass. 

Twice (twice!) Amalia shoved him out of the way of a stream of fire, deflecting the deadly blast with a ward that cracked and shimmered until the sheer intensity of the attack. He had his revenge, if you could call it that, by yanking her out of the way of snapping teeth that came far too close for comfort. 

The fight itself took too much time, her magicka running dangerously low and the world tilting a bit, her muscles screaming when she jerked her hand up to block another onslaught of flames that left the ground scorched around her. Oh but blessedly Kaidan surged out of seemingly nowhere, driving his sword through the soft scales under the creature's jaws. Thrashing, howling, crying out in anger and melancholy until, finally _finally _it slumped to the ground, tongue lolled out and eyes dimming into a glassy stare. 

Amalia didn't even have time to catch her breath when the soul came barreling into her. 

Her vision fuzzed, like she'd had far too many drinks, the colors of the world over-saturated and out of focus, nausea bubbling up in her throat with a hysterical giggle. It was too much, too much, _too much-_

She leaned over to wretch in a patch of flowers. 

Hands settled on her shoulder and her side, keeping her upright on swaying feet. It took her too long to realize that the pained groaning sounds were coming from her. Her stomach emptied itself again. By the gods did her throat burn. She hadn't used Shouts in the fight, no. It was unfamiliar to her, despite _knowing_ what they did, something new that she didn't know how to react to or control. 

The mage found herself sitting down. How the fuck--?

"You alright there?"

"Peachy," she croaked. "Kaidan?"

"Aye?" 

"Sorry." 

She really had to find better places to pass out. 

**_______________________________________________________________**

The headache flared behind her eyes first. Everything felt wrong. Blood was still crusted on her face from the barrow, her hair slightly singed from their fight with the dragon, the still overly full feeling that weighed in her chest like heavy stones. 

But she wasn't going to argue when she found herself blessedly warm, happier still when she realized her head was propped up against something soft. 

...what? 

Amalia cracked up her eyes enough to immediately regret it. It was late afternoon, sunlight filtering through the leaves of the Autumn Forest. To anyone normal, it would have been a pleasant fall day, but the combination of feeling overwhelmed, being stabbed in the eye with sunlight, and generally just feeling like shit, it was far from pleasant for her. Kaidan's face swam into view. Up... side down? She choked in panic. 

Flailing weakly, she felt hands encircle her wrists through the armored gloves she wore, pinning them against her chest. "Easy, Amai. I've got you, it's just me. Just me." 

"_FucksakeKaidanletgo-" _

"Not until you calm down."

Everything felt rigid, spine stiff as she squirmed in his grasp, banging her heels against the ground much like a tantrum-throwing child might do. Her tongue slurred as she spit half-hearted curses at him, trying (and miserably failing) to rip her wrists out of his hold, a repeated mantra of _I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine_ that did nothing to convince him. 

Meeting his gaze was a mistake. 

She couldn't stop herself from bursting into exhausted tears. 

It was better now that the dried blood had been wiped away from her face.

"I never wanted this."

Kaidan looked up from prodding the fire between them. They'd moved inside the tower for the night, settling their bedrolls in a cleaner corner away from the chill that rolled down the side of the mountain. Even now, he looked a little guilty that he'd snapped at her to calm down in her fit, but it wasn't his fault. There were no ill intentions behind it. 

"I know." 

"Fate and Prophecy can get shoved." 

"I know. You've already expressed that." 

"Did I?" 

"That was the night you got very drunk in your cabin." 

"Oh." A pause, a shift in her demeanor. "Please don't yell at me." 

It was his turn to look confused. "For?"

"I have to go up to the Word Wall or I might actually lose my mind. It's so loud, Kaidan. Can't you hear it?"

He couldn't. Somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that too, but the chanting was far too distracting for her to be thinking about anything else. At least the Word Walls didn't hit nearly as hard as the dragon souls did. 

"We need to get to Riften."

He made a noise of disinterest. "Why's that?"

"You need protection."

"My armor does me well enough." 

"From my _spells_." Exhaling, she rocked back on her heels. "You were incredibly lucky I didn't fry you at the watch tower in Whiterun. I need to be stronger, yea? This is the whole reason we're on this quest, so I can gain power in order for it to be easier fighting dragons. The magic I've been using? I never used that on the battlefield. That stuff is used because I'm in closed quarters and I have to make sure I'm not injuring you as well. I'm not an idiot, Kaidan. I know I've struck you a few times on accident."

Now he was looking at her in earnest. "Accidents happen, and it didn't hurt enough for me to concern you with it." 

"It's my concern if it fucking kills you," she snapped, then relented. "There's a few favors I need to pull from the court mage anyway, if I can get her to focus long enough." 

**_______________________________________________________________**

"A bard, huh? Know any tunes for the road?"

Amalia didn't look up from her book. They rode side by side on the narrow pathway leading towards Riften, the distant call of a songbird the only noise in the forest. Aside from the occasional roar of a bear in the distance. But _Gods_ was he bored to death. 

"I'm _busy_." Scratching something into her notes, she exhaled slowly, tucking the sharpened charcoal behind her ear. Her journal snapped shut with a sense of finality. "**Zu'u lost drehlaan ganog fah sul.** I _think_ I've figured out what the runes on your blade say."

He blinked mutely at her. "Pardon?" 

"You don't think I wasn't going to investigate the strange, red-eyed warrior that I fished out of a prison with unfamiliar armor and an unfamiliar blade with even stranger runes etched on it? I took a rubbing of it when you were passed out a few months back."

"And you didn't think to share this information with me because...?" 

"You got snippy with me when you found out I was a mage. I don't really want to hear it from you, Kaidan."

His brows knitted together. "Are you alright?" 

"Never been better," she lied. The sarcasm that dripped from her voice was enough to make him scowl. 

"Are you itching to fight, or are you going to tell me what you found out?" 

She was looking for a fight. Dragons, by their nature, were aggressive. Her skin was crawling with the need to lash out, to Shout, _anything _to stop the burning want that clawed its way through her chest, foot bouncing incessantly in her stirrup. Two days had passed since their fight with the dragon. She figured that was enough of an excuse to instigate a brawl. 

"Fine." Swinging down from the saddle, Amalia stalked towards the shore of the lake they'd traveled along, slinging Cinnamon's reigns into a set of low branches. "Yea, we'll fight. I make the rules."

He was quick to follow suit, a wary glint present in his expression. Good. He'd need that. 

"One, no breastplates, no gauntlets. All other armor is fine. Two, no magic on my part, no weapons on yours." The mage had already thrown her gloves in the dirt, making quick work on the buckles on her armor. Chainmail and plating came away to noisily clank on the ground, leaving her in a linen tunic and the bottom half of her robes. "Three. Dirty tricks allowed within reason. No pokin' eyes. Four, don't hold back. I swear to the gods if I think you're holding back, I will pummel you into the dirt."

"What determines a win?" 

"When one of us can't move anymore or a yield is called. If I win, you pay me 100 Septims and buy me a dinner and a round of drinks in Riften. If you win, I'll tell you what the runes say. Deal?" 

Kaidan grunted in affirmation, leaning his own armor against the tree. 

She was already settled into a fighting stance when he finally turned around. Raising his eyebrows at her, he moved to do the same. 

How she chose to fight was odd to him, the way her arms were tucked close to her face, her stance wide. He'd not sparred like this in a very long time. Not since Brynjar's death. 

Amalia was the first to move. It was the smallest shuffle, foot sliding backwards for traction before launching herself forward, startlingly fast in her actions but there was less force in the swing that connected with his jaw than he expected. Not than anyone would suspect getting sucker punched in the face. Kaidan let his mind catch up with him, wailing two blows to her ribs before they tumbled away from one another. If she wanted a fight, she was going to get one. The man knew he could use his size to his advantage against her speed. Just because he was bigger didn't mean he wasn't just as fast. 

Whereas her jabs were quick and to the point, he turned the tide and bared down on her, strikes raining down on either side of her head, just barely blocked with her forearms. They fell into a rhythm unintentionally. 

One beat too slow, Kaidan raked his knuckles across her temple, and she dropped like a sack of bricks, using the slope of the bank to roll away from him. There she lay unmoving, save for the heaving of her chest. 

Was it over that quickly? 

The mage scrambled from her position from the ground. A smear of blood marred the skin around her eye, and she snarled (snarled!) at him in her rising anger. Spitting curses, Amalia lunged at him, sidestepping a blow to let it glance off her ribs, her own arms wrapping around his middle and hauling him to one side as hard as she could physically manage, using the momentum of his swing to throw him to the ground. Quick to catch her own balance, she rolled away from him at the impact, stars dancing behind her eyes when her head had connected with a rock. 

She didn't hit as hard as he did. Amalia wasn't a brawler, she was a mage for fuck sake! But this, being able to vent her frustrations through actions? This helped. There'd been a constant fog in her mind since the last Word Wall, and damned if it wasn't frustrating enough to make her lash out at anything nearby. So when they both scrambled to their feet again, she was eager to meet him head on. 

Kaidan wasn't trained in multiple forms of combat nothing. When she'd thrown herself at him with no abandon, that'd surprised him. But now that she had her heart in the fight, it was painfully obvious she had surprisingly little skill when it came to brawling. She came at him again with her teeth bared, he sidestepped her and caught her arm, twisting it behind her back, his free hand slamming between her shoulder blades to knock her to the ground once again. Face down in the dirt and his knee in the small of her back, Amalia howled with indigence. 

"You're pitiful, crying out like a wounded animal," he goaded. "This is what you wanted, Amalia. Are you so weak that you can't measure up to your own threats?"

"Prideful son of a bitch!"

"Yield." 

"Fuck you!" 

One hand came up to wrap her braid around his fist, forcing her head backwards as he towered over her. Hot breath against her neck made her shudder, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. His grip was relentlessness, and she couldn't stop the pained whine that escaped her throat. 

_"Yield_."

Those were her conditions: yield or stop moving. No, _no_, she wan't nearly done with him, the swell of a Shout building in her chest, anything to _get him the fuck off of me!_ The mage whipped her head around just enough against the force of his pull, only partially catching him with the force of her voice. He was lucky she'd only had enough breath in her lungs to manage the first word. Even so, it was enough to send him tumbling backward into the water, swearing at the cold contact that flooded his armor, distracted when her shadow fell over him. 

"You yield. I knocked you down." 

"With _magic,_" he snapped. "Which you explicitly stated you wouldn't use." 

"I said I wouldn't use _my _magic. Didn't specify using dragon Shouts. Yield." 

Amalia screeched when he pulled her into the water. Fists turned into open hands, outstretch and fingers bent to claw at his face, choking when water flooded her mouth and the blow to the ribs stole what little air she had left. _Gods__, how was he so strong?_ Kaidan yanked both of her wrists above her head, pining them there with one hand, the other going to her side to squeeze down on bruised bones. If it wasn't the stars dancing behind her eyes, it was how he leaned down to growl in her face that that had the same Shout flaring to life in her chest, that too choking and sputtering to nothing when the hand on her ribs collided with her jaw and forced her mouth shut. Her teeth clacked together painfully. 

"Quit flailin', woman." The grasp on her jaw loosened when it wasn't immediately obvious that she'd Shout him into Oblivion. "The fight's over. Unless you enjoy laying in the lake in soaked armor, I can wait all day for you to cool your heels." 

"**Tovit kruziik qethsehokoronne**," she murmured. 

"What?"

"You won. _Search the ancient bones-of-enemies. _That's what your blade says."

Kaidan blinked. 

And blinked again, astonished. He sat back, releasing her, grimacing at the tell-tale signs of bruises that were beginning to bloom across her skin. Realization was too slow to click into place that the both of them were soaking wet on the banks of a lake in a compromising position, the two of them heaving with the exertion of a one-sided fight. 

But better still was finally knowing that the runes on his blade actually meant something. Overjoyed would have been an understatement, pulling her to her feet. There was a rush of air when he nearly squeezed the life out of her in a crushing hug. "You bloody genius! Cryptic, but definitely pointing somewhere." 

Amalia gave a little half grin. "Sorry for keepin' that secret from you. It was a little harder to translate, since the last word is three of them stuck together."

Chuckling, he leaned away from her, hands on either sides of her shoulders. "Fight went out of you that quick, huh? Didn't know I'd turn out to be a dragon tamer." 

"You aren't. I just get... overwhelmed. With the dragon souls. They hurt like Oblivion. They want out, and I always need _something_ to help settle them down." 

"That's why you were so fidgety in Kynesgrove?" 

"Mhmm." 

"And you thought a fistfight would help you this time?"

"It did."

"Why?" 

Stepping away from him, Amalia walked to Cinnamon with intent to set up camp for the evening. The buckles on her pack jingled while she thought. "Dominance? To tired myself out?" She sighed, shoulders slumped. "I don't really know. I wasn't thinking straight enough to argue the point. But I'm okay now. Mentally." The mage winced, testing the joint of her arm. It was sore, like everything else. But nothing was out of place. 

"Can I ask you something?" 

She hummed in response. 

"If I do buy you dinner in Riften, would you still show me your scars?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated ❤


	14. Fragile Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly you could tag this as platonic fluff because it's just so sweet in-game.

Kaidan liked the Rift. With the cold autumn forests and the slight chill that always hung in the air, a visitor might find the hold picturesque and pleasant. 

Riften? An absolute shithole. 

His nose crinkled the moment they walked through the city gates, the pungent odor of rotting fish and festering canal water permeating even on the outermost parts of the town. He'd been through a few times before, and still remained unimpressed at the squalor that remained. The Jarl seemed none the wiser to the disarray of the city. That, or she truly didn't care. It wasn't hard to see that Maven Black-Briar had a run of the town, despite the pitiful attempts of the steward to deflect those rumors. Riften belonged to the Thieves Guild, and the Thieves Guild belonged to Maven. That was just how it worked. 

What he also didn't miss was the whispers and stares the two of them received as they passed through the marketplace. Amalia hadn't bothered to heal herself, and there were dark splotches of bruising on either side of her face, left eye partially swollen shut. At least she'd taken the liberty to wipe the blood off her face. The man sported a few bruises of his own, but it wasn't nearly to the extent of hers. A pang of guilt shot through him. He'd been the one to cause the injuries, and it felt like the eyes of the city were judging them both in silent contempt. 

Leaving her to her own devices, he made himself busy: renting rooms for the night, visiting the blacksmith to have his sword sharpened, bargaining with the Dunmer in the market over a bottle of Flin. He could almost imagine himself traveling alone again, taking care of what he needed in the city and leaving again in the morning. And more than once his mind drifted to wandering into Haelga's bunkhouse. 

A sour look passed over his face. Was he really falling that low to find a more intimate companionship? 

But by now he found himself in the Bee and Barb, having taken a seat at the table near the wall. It wasn't particularly his ideal choice, but it was the best option he had to keep an eye on both doors. Amalia would find him again eventually once she was done completing her own tasks. 

The familiar patrons of the bar were there as they always seemed to be, letting his gaze flicker to each over the rim of his mug. The red-haired man leaning near the doorway--Brynjolf, was it?--nodded to him once. Kaidan nodded back. It was an understanding to stay the hell away from each other once the swordsman had found out what his 'jobs' entailed and he wanted nothing to do with that sort of life. Not anymore, at least. Then there was Keerava and Talen like normal, a woman in grey armor who's name he didn't know, and a number of Argonian and Dunmer workers he'd seen flitting around the marketplace and docks. Despite its history, Riften was one of the more diverse cities in Skyrim. 

It was well past sundown when she finally wandered into the tavern. A bottle of mead was set in front of her when she sat down. 

"You've been busy," he said idly. "Were you able to get what you wanted?" 

Amalia nodded, shuffling in her satchel for a moment, laying a necklace out on the table between them. It was a plain looking silver medallion, a small sapphire glittering in the center in the light of the lantern above them. When he picked it up to inspect it, the sheen of enchantment shimmered across the surface. 

"'S lightning enchanted. Well, lightning warding. I was going to have a ring made instead, but, er... I didn't know if a ring would bother you when wielding your sword." 

"Wouldn't have been a problem," he admitted. "But this is less likely to be damaged in a fight. I can keep it safe under my armor."

"So, no issues with wearing a magic item? I'd've thought you'd thrown it across the room by now, since it was made by a spooky mage." The one eye that wasn't swollen shut was fixated on him with a mischievous stare. It might have had more of an impact had she not looked like she'd been dragged six ways to Sundas. 

Kaidan was quick to make a jab back. "And lose out on my only chance that I'd be in your good graces enough to receive a gift from you? I don't think so." 

Cracking a smile, she peered at him from over her drink. "Did you just make a joke? The ever-so-serious swordsman Kaidan made a joke? I have to say, I'm impressed. I didn't know you had it in you." 

Despite waving off the comment, he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from turning up, amused. "Yea, yea. Anyway, I said I'd buy you dinner. Not expectin' anything back, if that's what you're worried about. People tend to hide scars for a reason, and I won't push you for it." Waving Keerava over, his attention turned back to her when she spoke. There was a look of thoughtfulness on her face, gazing just past him to the opposite wall. 

"I'll show you. The one that caused the hole in my armor, at least. I've got quite a few others, some from the army, some from when I was still at home, helping with the farm. Those aren't really important." 

_But what's the story of the scar? Impaled by what exactly, and how? _ He frowned slightly. "Food first, then drinks." 

"Sounds good to me." 

**__________________________________________**

She had a bad habit of worrying the nail on her thumb with her teeth when she was a few cups of mead in. 

Especially when there was something on her mind. 

"Alright. What's got your head tied up in knots?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Amalia looked sheepish, dropping her hands in her lap. Her journal lay open between the two of them and more than once he found his eyes wandering towards the pages to see if there was anything particularly interesting written on the page. 

"Thinking about the runes on your sword. **Tovit kruziik qethsehokoronne**. I'm curious what it's alluding to. I have a few ideas, but I wanted to hear your perspective on it first." 

"Well, the Blades were never short of enemies. Thalmor, dragons, the Mythic Dawn... It's something I'd have to think about." 

"I get this nagging feeling we're going to have to deal with the Thalmor in order to find out more. Bone-of-enemies... graves, maybe? Who's though? There's been a lot of dead folk since the beginning of literally everything." Amalia made an exasperated noise. "I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have gone up to see the Greybeards for as long as I did. But frankly, screw Delphine." 

"The both of you needed to cool your heels, otherwise you might have just taken down the entire village of Riverwood." 

She raised an eyebrow at that. 

"I'm just sayin'. You left scorch marks in her table with your magicka and all. Suppose that doesn't matter now though, since you've got an invitation in store for you once you're up in Solitude." 

Groaning, Amalia scrubbed her face in her hands. 

"Please don't remind me. I just want to focus on getting those Word Walls. Oh! Speaking of which--" Thumbing through her journal, the mage shuffled with the pages for a bit before extracting a folded sheet of paper, gently peeling the corners apart to lay it flat across the table. It was a map of Skyrim, with many locations marked, their respective names written in small print next to each. 

"I did some digging. Well. Research. I was able to cross reference with my own map, and the court mage let me browse through her books for a while. Not only that, I was able to speak with the steward of the city and find out some specifics. Here," Her finger drifted to a point in the mountain range that lay to the southeast. "There's a dragon roost and a barrow close together. It's entirely possible we can visit both in the same day. But here in the north, there's another roost, and another here. That one's clear up in Eastmarch." 

"Probably leave the Eastmarch one alone for now, then."

A hum of agreement left her. "Fair. We just have to keep an ear out for any news regarding dragon attacks. When one dragon is cleared out, another is likely to take its place relatively quickly. I suppose if they keep to themselves, it should be alright to leave them be."

At that, he gave her a strange look. "You'd leave them to attack people?"

"No," she said, annoyed. "If the dragons aren't doing anything to anyone, it's better to let them go. Neither of us have the time to hunt down each and every dragon that's sighted. You have to remember, they're very _very _large, very fast, and very sharp. Considering you nearly got yourself eaten with the last dragon, I'd say you're familiar with the sentiment." 

"I hate it when you're right." 

"Is that so? Then I guess you'll be hating me a lot in the coming future, since I have a pretty damn good knack at getting things correct." 

"Confident aren't you? Guess I'll just have to take you down a notch with another fistfight, is that it?"

Amalia grinned. "You just want another excuse to pull my hair, don't you?" 

"Mouthy, too."

"There are other uses for my mouth that you don't know about." 

Kaidan choked on his drink. Loudly. Talen shot him a dirty look from across the room as the man wheezed, trying hard to regain his composure. His face was red from his neck to the roots of his hair when he was finally able to sputter a rather eloquent response. 

"Sorry, you--what?"

Snickering, the mage folded the map back up. "Don't worry about it, Kai. Though, we should probably get some rest. I'm going to head up to my room for the night, yea? Just knock on my door whenever you've got your head out the gutter." 

She couldn't help but chuckle to herself while she wound down for the night. Allowing herself a moment of freedom, she had removed her armor down to basic wear: a worn down pair of leggings and a sleeveless, whitewashed tunic that'd been scrubbed a little too hard a few too many times. Regardless of its appearance, they were comfortable, and she gave herself that one small bit of luxury. Yanking the shirt over her head, she grunted, feeling a small ripple of crackling bones crawl down her spine from sitting at the table for far too long, and jammed her fingers under her binding to loosen the cloth a bit. 

Too many times had she been scolded by the priestesses of Dibella for binding far too tight. She could still breath, yes, but now and during her time as a healer and a soldier, she needed as much freedom as it would allow. It was easier to modify armor that did not have to be specially tailored to, a heavy preference to the single smooth plate that sat against her chest, far easier than having to fight to make sure everything was in order before a fight. And by in order, it meant everything was in place. There was no time for trivial seconds wasted to get your shit together on a battlefield. 

Setting that thought aside, Amalia let her fingers drift over the scar that rested near her navel. With a shake of her head, she yanked her shirt back on. 

Now or never, she supposed. 

Stopping outside his door, she tapped her knuckles against the wood. Some small part of her was hoping that he wouldn't answer, that'd he'd gone out somewhere else for the night, or fallen asleep, or _literally anything else--_

No, instead she was greeted with the sight of him still in his armor, hair loose from its typical half-knot that he always seemed to have. The new look was odd to her. 

"Er... May I come in?" 

He didn't answer, instead stepping inside for the two of them to squeeze into the small room. Kaidan looked at her expectantly. 

"It was an ice spike." Her voice was small, fingers worrying the hem of her tunic. "Hurt like Oblivion, too. A group of us were sent to capture of fort that'd been taken over by necromancers, and I got hit in the fight. You suck at controlling your facial expressions, by the way. You've been wanting to ask for a while." 

"How did--" 

"You get this really puzzled look. And you're a crap liar, so..." Amalia trailed off. Her gazed flickered to the floor briefly. The war she was having with herself was evident, but whatever judgement had won out convinced her to pull her tunic to her ribs, exposing her scar. 

Kaidan sucked in a breath at the sight of it. 

The man had seen his fair share of fights, had his fair share of injuries. Had his own number of scars. 

But this? 

He'd been expecting a small wound, something that'd been easily healed by a priest or a war healer. 

He couldn't have been more wrong. 

Amalia's skin was marred where the ice had struck her, the skin ugly and rough, a hideous shade of mottled red that fanned out into a sickening paleness. Where the color had begun to fade, patterns of frost were permanently marked into her skin around the old wound. He could have almost admired the complexity of the fractals had they not covered a majority of her stomach, the lines of magicka damaged slipping below the hem of her pants. 

His hands found her hips of their own accord, guiding her to stand in front of him as he took a seat in the chair that was nestled in the corner of the room. There was an itch, a desire to feel the scar under his fingers, but the hesitant shuffle of her feet brought him out of his astonishment to look her in the eye. 

"Didn't Brynjar ever teach use to ask for permission before touching someone?" It was a weak attempt at a joke to diffuse the tension that'd gathered on the air. His hands didn't leave her hips, focusing his gaze up at her. 

"Can I... will you allow me to touch? Your scar?" 

She paused. Then: "You may, gently. The nerves never grew back right, so it's... a little unsettling feeling. If it starts getting to be too much, you have to stop, yea?" 

He heard himself agreeing before his hand drifted over the raised skin of her stomach to let the padding of his thumb skim against the border. Amalia flinched at the contact. 

"It's cold," he murmured. 

"...yes?"

"Why?"

The mage fidgeted, shrugging. "It's ice magicka, I don't know? Didn't really think to ask the healers 'hey, is this going to be permanent cold spots on my stomach and leave me with the most disgusting looking mark known to man?' at the time. Was pretty focused on not dying." 

Kaidan traced over the center of the scar where it indented. The area itself was the size of his palm, but the lasting magicka burns spread further across her skin that he could have touched, the very borders of it hidden under her breast band. Amalia made a choked noise, pulling away. 

"Did that hurt?"

Shaking her head, she dropped her shirt, moving to sit on his bed. "It's not pain, no. More like... panic. If that makes sense? Cold fire that burns and freezes at the same time, and it makes everything throb in a not nice way. I'm not good at explaining these things, Kaidan." 

"You don't have to be. Does it bother you often?"

"Only when I'm in cold places. It aches, an no amount of tea or sitting bundled by a fire help." 

"So the climb to High Hrothgar...?"

"It was hurting a majority of the time, yes. Another reason I stayed in the southern holds when I was a healer. That, and you can get around faster on foot if you're not having to trudge through snowbanks that are half your height." 

The mental image of her trying to wade through deep snowbanks made him chuckle dryly despite the mood of the room.

She leaned back, cracking a grin. The light of the lantern on the table played across her face. Just the tentative few seconds of amusement had them both smiling, the air clear of the discomfort that threatened to smother. 

"Thank you."

"For?"

"Showing me. This may sound strange, but I'm glad to know a little more about you." 

Shrugging, Amalia crossed her ankles to let her legs swing over the side of the bed. "Ah... yea. I mean, of course. Considering I let you stay in my cabin for two months, I trust you. It's not something I give freely, or easily. I'm glad you're by my side, Kaidan." 

He smiled, hair falling around his face when he looked towards the ground. The very thought that'd she was happy to have him around made his chest swell with pride. Their share of fighting, of bickering, of banter on the roadside was enough for him. Enough to give him the courage to ask what he needed. It'd been a thought that bugged him since their fight with the dragon in the western part of the hold. 

"Listen... There's been something I've been meaning to ask you." 

"Of course, what's wrong?"

The steadying breath he took was enough to set her on edge. Habit brought her hand to her mouth to chew at her thumbnail. 

"When we first began traveling together, it was because I promised to repay a life debt to you. After every fight, every battle we've been through, some might say that the debt is long since been discharged." 

Amalia's tongue felt like cotton. Her voice was thick as she spoke. "You... want to leave?"

Her tone made him look back up at her, his face flickering between confusion and concern. "No," he hesitated. "No, that's not what I was getting at..." Kaidan sighed heavily, carding his fingers through his hair. "I've been on my own for a long time now. Without anyone I could trust, without any place to really belong. Since I've met you, that's started to change. There are many ways to save a life, Amai. And you've save mine in more than I can explain." 

The chair creaked as he stood, the floor of the room cross in two steps to take a seat beside her on the bed, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Unconsciously, she leaned into him, seeking heat and comfort. Was this it? Was he going to leave her here in Riften? One ex-soldier against a horde of dragons, to face the Thalmor alone, to--

He didn't look at her. Instead, he stared at the wall, feet shuffling nervously. "Finally I'm carving out a future, and remembering what it means to care about someone enough that... that you'd put their life before your own. I just--I want you to know if you still want me at your side not as a mercenary under obligation, but as your friend." 

This time, he did look at her, Green-gold eyes met red, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. 

"As your ally." 

The inn could have been burning down around them and she'd have been none the wiser. It shouldn't have been so hard to answer him, her mouth falling open in a pitiful attempt to say something, mind too caught up in processing his words. The realization slapped her in the face. Amalia beamed up at him.

"You've been my friend for a long time now, Kaidan. Honestly... there was no need to even ask." 

His smile grew wider. Whatever answer he was expecting, he seemed content with the one he got. 

"It warms my heart to know it, my friend." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consent is important, kids. Don't be a fucking weirdo.


	15. Behind Closed Doors

Amalia's penchant for taking treasures was odd to him. In all fairness, she had an eye for the usual things that any adventurer might snag on their way through an old ruin: gold, gems, chunks of raw precious metals. But she also had the tendency to pick up the odd items of interest. He watched her now while she examined two of the more interesting things she'd picked up in the last few weeks, shaking his head in disbelief. 

They'd made their camp just north of a cave that trickled a stream out its mouth, dutifully marked on his companion's map as Purewater Run. Kaidan couldn't have complained. It was a source of fresh water and a decent location, far enough from any Forsworn camps that they wouldn't disturb them during the night, and plenty of wild game that roamed in the rocky foothills. Their tent was backed up against the cliff face to ward off the biting wind, colder now that the winter months were beginning to set in, and he was glad for it. Some nights it was hard for the fire to keep them warm. 

And he certainly wouldn't tell her, but the man didn't miss the way her bedroll had been scooting closer and closer to his in the few nights that they were settled into the camp, curled up tight in her blankets when the snap of frost stained the dry grass white in the early morning hours. He wouldn't tell her, but he wouldn't offer it. 

There was that curious head tilt of hers when she rolled a smooth black stone between her fingers, watching the way she admired it in the last light of the day. Why she'd collected it, he had no idea, but the fact that'd it been so well guarded by a coven of hagravens was enough of an indicator for its value. The stone reflected no light, seeming not made of any earthly material that he knew of. Volcanic rock was far too porous, and ebony shone when polished even in the slightest bit, and nothing else came to mind. Amalia had her fill of the stone short after, turning attention to the mask in her lap. 

That encounter in itself was odd. It's not everyday you have an ancient ghost ask for assistance in killing a lich-turned Dragon Priest. 

_Just chalk it up to Dragonborn blood. Trying to figure it out yourself is just going to give you a headache. _

It would. 

It did. Kaidan rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead to try and ease the pressure that was growing in his skull. There really was no reason to overthink it, but it was just... so bizarrely baffling to him that he couldn't help himself. 

"Any particular reason for picking up an old iron mask and peculiar looking stone?" He couldn't help but ask. Maybe that was what was needed to put his mind at ease. 

She didn't answer at first, turning the mask this way and that to inspect it. "Magic energy. On both of them. This--Hevnoraak's mask--reeks of enchantments. The stone doesn't have enchantments on it, but it's pretty heavy feeling and there's a lot of... strangeness to it. Otherworldly, sort of?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "Woudn't that be a bad reason to keep the stone?" 

Amalia scoffed. "Of course not. It's harmless as far as I can tell, but if it bothers you, I can put it away." 

Of course, before he could assure her that it didn't, she'd tucked both the items away in her pack. He could only sigh and rub his head again. 

The faint chime of a healing spell sounded next to him. The mage was holding her hands out, letting the gold light wash over her palms, an expectant look on her face. "Headache?" 

She'd healed him before, during fights, when he wasn't quick enough to get to his potions. Restoration magicka felt strange to him. It seemed strange. Power over life and death. But it wasn't just that, she'd informed him quite readily of that (and by that, she snapped at him when he assumed it was only for healing), that it was about protection and warding, mastery over skin and bone and the ability to turn away undeath. She'd used that kind of spell when the crowds of draugr had gotten too thick around them, the circle of protection driving them away just enough that they could catch their breath and get right back to the fight. 

It felt strange too. A bit itchy under the skin, how the new scars felt tight for a few days afterward. Amalia probably would have fussed at him if he confessed that it felt unnatural, but he couldn't help but feel grateful when there wasn't blood dripping into his eye anymore to blind him. 

Kaidan lowered his head to her. 

She made a pleased sound when he allowed her to touch her fingers to his temples, the pressure in his skull fading away into nothing, chasing off the fatigue that lingered in his mind. 

The pads of her fingers soft against his skin. Unknowingly, his expression softened as the pain eased, relishing the hum of encompassing magicka. Months ago he would have turned the offer down. He felt like an ass thinking about it, because he knew what his reaction would be. He knew what his own feelings towards mages were. He knew that he hated them--and her--and that he'd had spit in the face of the idea of traveling with a mage of his own free will. 

But now? 

He still didn't particularly trust mages. 

He trusted Amalia. 

And he was at a loss when he felt her touch slip away from him. Tentatively, his eyes blinked open to find his companion regarding him with that curious head tilt of hers. There was a brief moment when her expression was unreadable, but it morphed into a look of subtle amusement, the way the corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. 

"Maybe I should start calling you Snowberry," she mused. "It might suit you." Her smiled faded slightly. "Something the matter, Kaidan?"

Oh. 

He'd been staring at her without saying anything. Clearing his throat, he sat back and murmured his thanks, leaning back on his hands and letting his gaze drift to the ground. 

There was a shift between the two of them. He was not blind to it, and curious to know if Amalia had understood that shift as well. He wasn't going to ask. But there'd been something new, a comfortableness that'd settled into their schedules and tasks each time they stopped to camp or rest at an inn for the night. They'd shared beds when there was only one room, squeezed into tight places with their backs turned to each other more out of politeness than anything else, and grumbled when their room was the size of a broom closet. Some nights though, it was easier than sleeping out in the cold. 

That sense of easiness had wedged itself there after she'd shown him her scar. Kaidan didn't know if it was one of many, but he was satisfied knowing the story behind it, despite how short that story had been. 

"'m alright. Just got a lot on my mind is all. What about you, though? How've you been holding up with... all of this? With what's going on?"

Amalia looked taken aback. "That's what's been worrying you then? No, don't get me wrong, the whole ordeal is..." 

Her mouth flattened into a thin line, exhaling slowly while she considered her words. "It's a lot to think about. But I'm alright. I'm alive. That's as much as I can ask for right now, isn't it?" 

"Aye. I suppose it is." 

The Silver-Blood Inn. Amalia wrinkled her nose looking at the sign. 

The last time she was in the Reach was the early spring, barely after the last frost had thawed on the blooming flowers. If she'd had the choice between staying in Markarth or Riften, she might have actually chosen the Ratway. The old Dwarven city was certainly not on the high priority of places she liked to travel to, for many reasons: the constant mechanical whirring of ancient machinery set her teeth on edge, the high walls of the city feeling more like a prison than protection, and the fact that all the guards in the city were payed in blood money to work for the Silver-Bloods on the side. 

She remembered the first night she was here.

As soon as she'd stepped through the city gates, the flash of dull silver caught her eye to the right, a Breton man shouting something she didn't quite hear. Not that it mattered, since he was gurgling on his blood from a hunting knife in his back a moment later. 

Hopefully the Imperial woman he was after was alright. The mage (healer, at the time) made her escape into the upper districts of the city and far from prying eyes and ears. 

So, to her great disapproval, Kaidan convinced her they needed to rest in the comfort of the city for a few nights before they made their way north toward Solitude. It was more convincing herself that she needed a hot bath and a chilled wine instead of dunking her head in the rivers and stream they came across the refresh themselves. Even her own personal supplies were beginning to run low, but it was nothing that a trip to Bothela's couldn't fix. She had herself a nightly routine before, and even during her time as a soldier, and now that she realized that she'd not taken up that tasks in years, part of her was wishing she would do so again. It was something that always grounded her at the end of the day, a habit that gave her a sense of normalcy when the world seemed to be going to shit. 

And it seemed like it was going to shit. 

Again. 

She'd consider it. 

_After_ a bath and a meal. 

Getting settled in for the night was easy enough. Yet again the room was the size of a broom closet. 

Not to mention the bed was made of stone. 

The look of disdain on Amalia's face was enough to make Kaidan chuckle. 

They fell into their usual routine when they stopped in cities and small towns for the night. Rent a room (or two, if possible), let her go off and run her errands for the night, come back, have a few drinks, eat dinner, and wind down to sleep. Usually he didn't ask what she was doing when she disappeared for hours at a time, but his curiosity got the better of him that day. She had changed into a plain white robe, watching while she worried at the yellow stitching on the collar. Not her healer's robes, he realized. Just something to be comfortable in. 

"Running off again?" 

She made an absent noise, leaning over in her chair to rake her fingers through the snarled braid that hung against her back. They'd taken their seat in front of the fire, and he himself turned his own seat to face the rest of the room. A habit he didn't seem to want to break. 

"Just going to do some things. Stop by the bathhouse near the keep to wash up, visit the court mage to see if he's got any tips, pop by the apothecary for some things, and pay a visit to the Temple of Dibella." Ticking the list off her fingers, she hummed to herself in an attempt to recall if she'd forgotten anything. 

What she got instead was the amused looked on Kaidan's face, one eyebrow cocked in a silent question. Well, silent until he opened his mouth. "Going to see the Dibellan priestess'? Didn't know you were particularly religious." 

His tone didn't escape her. "Ass. I worship all of the Divines, essentially. My focus remains on Mara, Kyne, and Dibella, and I find solace in the teaching of Julianos as well. And no, before you ask, I'm not visiting the temple for the... companionship of the priestess' there. Just checking in on the the Sybil." 

"'Checking in on the Sybil'?" he echoed. "Really?"

"Aye. I rescued her last fall from a group of Forsworn that'd taken her captive from her village, miles from here." 

"Is there anything you haven't done? Or do you just show up from time to time in southern Skyrim and rescue people?" 

Amalia let her gaze dart around the room. It was mostly empty, save for a man sleeping at the end of the bar opposite of him, and Kleppr's distant voice arguing with his wife. She grinned suddenly, like she was in on some joke. "I haven't broken into the Thalmor Embassy. I'd say that's a pretty big achievement." 

"But you're certainly planning to." 

"Ah." The mage paused dramatically. "I've been found out! How shameful of me."

Snorting, the man leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. "Go on then. I'll still be here when you decide to get back." 

"Mhm. Would you like me to grab something for you while I'm out?" 

He paused. "Nah. Go have fun without me." 

She could only roll her eyes on her way out. 

Mara's mercy, she needed more of a bath than she thought. She scrubbed herself down three times before she felt satisfied that she was clean, until the water ran clear and her skin smarted in the places she'd taken the sponge a little too roughly. Not only that, she was grateful for the gentler soaps she was able to pick up from the alchemist, scrunching her face up at the distant memory of when she'd let lye soap sit for too long on her skin. A bit of nasty business that was. 

Amalia allowed herself to relax after she'd drained and refilled the tub with near boiling water. Traveling was a pain, and she knew that, but it remained easier when she found herself in good company. 

Kaidan was good company. More often than not, they'd share something from their past that was impersonal and unprodding, casual questions to keep the silence at bay when their books couldn't entertain them. It was simple things, really. Funny stories of soldiers doing dumb things from Amalia, Kaidan describing some of the places he'd been to as a child and a young adult. Though, the farther into the life he seemed to get, the more distant and faded his descriptions seemed to get. She wouldn't bother him on it if he didn't feel like sharing. 

_He'd be good company in the bath if you'd just invite him--_

No, no. Nope. She wasn't going to deal with this today. She wasn't going to entertain the thought. 

Hauling herself out of the tub, the mage hissed at the cold air of the room around her, glowering at the spot on the wall while she gathered her things to leave. 

More than once had those intrusive little thoughts wiggled their way into her mind when she was around him. Flashes of... scenarios that she wouldn't quite object to if they were real, and whether it was stubborn pride or shyness, she wouldn't bother to give her subconscious the chance to wander, stamping out the images as soon as they flared to life. Of course, that led to her mind wander back to the Bannered Mare. 

For fuck sake! She groaned into her hands. 

_I wasn't thinking of him. _

_ Oh of course not,_ the voice goaded. _You left the man in your fantasies faceless, but wasn't it his voice you heard? And now you're frustrated beyond relief. You've got an outlet. Two, now that you're in Markarth. Don't think you haven't noticed the way he glances at you when he doesn't think you're looking. There was fear once in his face, when the two of you brought down that dragon. It's admiration now. You've seen it. He stood back when you brought that Dragon Priest out of his tomb. Do you think he gets little thrills seeing you fight? Seeing just how deadly you really can be?_

_ Just like how you see him. _

Amalia growled to the open air. "Can you shut it for five minutes? Or five centuries, honestly. I've got better things to do than daydream. You know that."

_Do you really?_

There was nothing but faint laughter in her head when she finally stomped out of the baths. 

"Welcome to the Temple of--Oh! Amalia! Oh my goodness, we haven't seen you in ages!" 

The mage smiled the woman before her. Senna, she recalled, fussed over the woman's appearance, leading her deeper into the temple to see her fellow sisters. Amalia had always felt a fellow kinship with the women that resided here, letting herself get swept up in the sounds of excitement when she was pulled through the doors of the Inner Sanctum, greeting the ones she knew and nodding her head politely to the new initiates that she didn't. It took a few minutes of letting the women chatter out their excitement before she herself put a hand up to pause them. 

"It's nice to see all of you again as well. And a few new faces at that. Is Fjotra here?" 

"Communing." The Reguard beside her was short with her answer, and her manner, but the mage had gotten used to it by now. "Though with as much noise as we've been making, I'm sure she'll be out of her chamber soon enough." 

Amalia chuckled, finding herself a chair to rest in, gaggles of priestess' clumping up around her in interested. Apparently it didn't take much for it to get out that'd she'd been the one to bring the Sybil to the Temple. 

"Pity. I was hoping to see her before I left."

There was a startled noise that rippled through the small crowd, sounding very similar to grumbled protests and hushed disagreement. 

"Well, hold on. I'll be in the city for a few days." 

"Then you have a little while to catch up with us? It's been months since we've seen you, and with the whole rumor of the Dragonborn returning at the same time the dragons have..." 

The woman froze. "Ah... about that..." 

* * * 

"And since that, we've been traveling across the southern half of Skyrim, looking for these ancient places." 

"Can you show us one of the Shouts?" It was a pretty, young Nord lass with pale green eyes and sun-shaded hair who asked that question. 

"It'd be better if I didn't. Most of them are destructive, harmful. And loud, incredibly loud. I made the mistake of Shouting when I was deep underground... had a headache for days afterward." 

It wasn't just her who had a disappointed look on her face, but the lot of them seemed to be understanding enough. She was grateful for that. 

"And the Outlander? He came with you into the city, didn't he?" They'd taken to calling him that for now, when Amalia fumbled through why exactly she couldn't explain what type of man he was. They'd been enraptured by the retelling of their story, how she saved him from a nasty Thalmor den that was being overtaken by the river, about their first fight at the watchtower, and how she traveled to High Hrothgar to be acknowledged as the Dragonborn. Of course, she left some of the more sensitive details out of the picture. 

"Aye. He's at the Silver-Blood Inn right now, probably already in his cups and wondering why I've not come back yet." She shook her head, chuckling. "He'll be the death of me, I swear. Seems to have a constant need to poke fun at me. But I'm glad to have him at my side now. He's a good friend, and an excellent warrior." 

She missed the sly grins that were exchanged between a few of them. Particularly between Orla and Senna. 

"So he's strong--"

"And strong willed--"

"You sleep in the same tent--?"

"Must get lonely, only the two of you camping--"

"Is he handsome--"

"--shared a bedroll yet?" 

"Alright," Amalia blurted. "Thank you, that's quite enough. Kaidan's a friend. That's it." 

"Ladies." The sharp voice of Mother Hamal called out across the lingering crowd of women. "You heard her. It's best that all of you go back to your duties now. You've had your time to gossip long enough."

Slowly, and begrudgingly, the crowd dispersed. The mage shot the older woman a thankful smile, standing to greet her. The older woman gave her a once over, looking puzzled. "You're not wearing your normal robes. Did something happen to them?" 

"It's a long story that I'm not particularly wanting to summarize right now. You'll have to ask the girls about it whenever they're done with their duties, but the shortest possible explanation I can give you is that I'm not traveling as a healer at the moment. There were some... bigger issues that came up." 

The older woman regarded her silently for a moment. "Well. If that's where your path takes you for now, then so be it. You're welcome in the Temple whenever you happen to be passing through." 

Hamal retreated into the deeper rooms of the Temple without another word, leaving Amalia to shake her head in disbelief. "She was always short with me, ever since the day I came through those doors." 

"You _did_ interrupt a ritual," Orla said casually. "It wouldn't surprise me if she's still a little sore from that."

There was a look of devious excitement on Senna's face when she piped up. "So, your companion? Have you bedded him yet?" 

"Senna!" 

"What! He sounds handsome the way you describe him, and it's obvious you two are _very close_. It's only right that I ask." 

"Mara's mercy. No, I haven't slept with him, because he's my friend! We're close because we have to watch each other's backs when we're fighting. It's just a mutual thing." 

"Could be friends with benefits," she said, shrugging. "Will you be back tomorrow?"

Amalia paused. "Tomorrow night, if you'll let me," she murmured quietly. "It's been a while, and I need a... distraction. Kaidan's a good friend, but it doesn't feel right, asking this of him." 

The two priestess' caught the hint easily, nodding. "Just come knock on the door an hour after nightfall. We'll be around." 

"You took your time tonight." His voice was more amused than anything else. The tavern had filled considerably in the time she was gone, and the mage blinked at the crowd that was milling about, a few of the patrons already deep in their cups. Kaidan had saved her a seat by the fire, and she took it gladly. 

"Aye, sorry about that. There's still things I need to take care of tomorrow as well. I told the girls at the temple I'd been in the city for a few days, and I'm looking forward to see the new Sybil's progress."

He chuckled loudly. "Anything you can't do? Rescue the new Sybil of Dibella, be talented healer and a very deadly mage, be a dragonslayer, be the Dragonborn, and not to mention a few other things." 

"A few things, yes," she confided. "But I might learn eventually to keep my mouth shut, for my own sake of not getting saddled with more favors."

Kaidan peered at her over the rim of his mug, doing nothing to hide the humor in his voice. "And just what else are you visiting the temple for? I've heard the ladies up there are very talented."

Amalia hummed quietly to herself. "I'd say so." 

"What was that?" 

"Ah, nothing important to worry about." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seems a bit off to me, but I've got to get back into the swing of things. 
> 
> The next chapter will be the Thalmor Embassy, so it should start picking up from there. Thanks for being patient with me!
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated ❤


	16. Into the Jaws of the Serpent

_Mara, protect me._

The roar of her own frantic heartbeat flooded her ears, the _thud thud thud _of heels hitting icy cobblestones resonating up in her bones that kept her head clear, kept her focused on her goal. Snow that fell from the sky fell wet and heavy, sticking to her armor, chilling her skin and slowing her down, her own footprints giving her away when the spell that kept her out of sight began to stammer and peel away. The distant crackle and hiss of magicka echoed in the trees behind her, accompanied by voices that were even further off. 

Good. She was beginning to shake their trail. 

She hadn't expected it to go so wrong, really. The documents of damning evidence that disproved Delphine's theories lay tucked away against her breast, shoved into her armor for safe keeping until she was finally true and ready enough to read them entirely through, and those were surprisingly easy enough to get to. That, and a letter. A mention of another dossier that she was also determined to get her hands on. 

Getting out of there unscathed? Well... 

The arrow in her side was enough of a testament to that. 

Amalia hadn't used her war magic since she was a soldier. Even though at Kaidan's expense, she said she'd fight like she used to, he wasn't ready to know the extent of it. Not really. So when she tasted blood in her mouth from a footsoldier that got close enough to slam his shield against her face, she didn't feel sorry when she called down her storm. 

It probably wasn't such a good idea to have used a Shout to bring down the storm that was still howling around the Embassy. That didn't really matter now, since she'd all but brought the building to ruins. The thundercrack that swept through the courtyard was to get rid of the Thalmor soldiers and wizards that'd swarmed from nowhere when she'd been discovered. 

Destroying part of the Embassy was to make a point. 

Killing every soldier that faced her down was a _promise._

The Thalmor had made their own point, considering she could feel the color draining from her face, and the magicka out from her body. Clever, using magicka poison. Easiest way to get rid of a mage is to eliminate their source of power. 

Branches whipped at her face when her magic began to fail, leaving her to be a dark shadow in stark contrast with the blankness of the landscape, muffling a screech of pain when she exploded out of the tree line and skittered down a hillside to hit the ground and roll, snapping off the shaft of the arrow that was still buried in her back. 

_Keep going. Get to Dragon Bridge. _

_ Get to Kaidan. _

**_____________________________________________________________**

"It's a daring plan that Delphine's conceived... I don't like it, you sneaking into a Thalmor den." The grousing irritation was plenty evident in his voice when he spoke his concern, drawing yet another worried sigh from his companion. 

The two of them stood under the shelter of an empty stable stall at the little farm that was just down the road of Solitude, looking on as Delphine was discussing whatever it is she felt needed to be discussed in the middle of winter, on Saturalia. In the snow. Not to mention the fact that the old Blade was already sour with Amalia. 

A Thalmor party hosted on Saturalia, and the Breton decided that an old, frumpy looking overcoat was enough to make her look like an esteemed guest. It took a few days, a hefty bag of gold, and some charming discussion with the two Altmer sisters that ran the tailoring shop by the front gates of Solitude to get her properly outfitted, and she'd been pleased with the result. The gentle swish of the navy blue fabric around her legs was caused by the anxious sway of her hips, cocking her stance from side to side to burn off the nervous energy that felt like it was getting heavier the more the snow fell. She was lucky, at least, that the tailors had given her a little mercy and not stuffed her into a corset, and found herself marveling at her appearance in the looking glass that'd they dragged out. It was simple by design, the cloth cut to rest against her form instead of constrict it, silver threading lining the hem and her sleeves giving it a classic look; she was meant to blend in, not stand out. 

That and the heavy fur cloak she wore made her look the she really did belong in the Embassy. Kaidan had gaped at the sight of her at first, sputtering ineloquently when she waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention. 

But her own attention was drawn back to the cart waiting to take her away. 

"It's the only way to find out what they know, Kai." 

He sighed, leaning back against the post with is arms crossed. "That, I'm aware of. I'm also aware of what they're going to do to you if you get caught." Snowberry eyes caught gold-green, pleading caution. "Promise you'll be careful, no uncalculated risks." 

Amalia made a half-amused noise. "Yes, and I'll be home by midnight, and eat all my greens." 

"Hilarious." 

"You like my jokes. Besides, you know I'll be careful. They won't catch me. Considering I've nearly made you jump out of your skin a few times by being _too _sneaky, I think I'll be alright."

Kaidan made an exasperated noise. "Talos, woman. You're going to send me grey before my thirtieth winter." 

She only chuckled in response, until her gaze landed on Delphine. The Blade was motioning her to come over, a distinct scowl on her face. "I guess it's time to go, then. You know what to do if I don't make it to the inn within the next day. Don't look for me if I don't show up, and _don't_ go seeking revenge. You're safe from my spells, but not from the magic of others. But it shouldn't come to that. Just... I'll be alright, yea?" 

Without waiting for a response, she shuffled her way through the thick snow, pulling her hood over her head as she went. A letter was handed off to her once she was settled in her seat, and he watched her break the seal and look over its contents. 

It was happening. Into the jaws of a serpent she leapt, to figure out just what in Oblivion was happening for dragons to be coming back to life. Kaidan pressed his mouth into a thin line, raising his hand to bid her goodbye as the driver clicked his horse on and lurching the cart forward. The mage gave him a half smile as she disappeared around the corner. 

A misty cloud of breath escaped him when he exhaled. "You'd better be." 

* * *

"Your invitation, please." 

A polite smile and a shaky hand she played off as being cold, a once over of the thin paper that she gripped so tightly in her fingers, and just like that, she was given access to the pits of Oblivion. At least, that's what it felt like to her. Tucking the invitation away, Amalia had barely managed to get inside the doors when the keen eyes of a tall Altmer woman bore into her like prey. 

She was no prey. 

_ Inhale, exhale. You'll be alright. _

_You are Amalia the Stormcrowned. _

_ Keep going. You're the Dragonborn. _

For once her own thoughts weren't annoying, straightening her shoulders and plastering on a smile that seemed convincing enough. The Altmer introduced herself as Elenwen, their conversation introductory until more digging questions began. She'd not thought this far ahead, and her etiquette skills were rather rusty... 

Well, it was a good thing Malborn was annoying. His interrupting gave her enough time and reason to slip away into the crowd that was gathered, idly picking up a goblet of strong alcohol that made her eyes water. For a holiday, she'd not expected so many people to be here. Notably, there were jarls and merchants there, a few she recognized, and many that she didn't. 

Out of the corner of her eye, the indifferent face of an older woman called her attention. Amalia needed a distraction to get away from the party. 

She supposed now would be a good time to call in a favor with Jarl Ingmund, considering she'd rid Morthal of a vampire coven. 

**_____________________________________________________________**

The door of the inn slammed open far harder than she intended, considering she fell into it just trying to get the damn latch to unlock. 

Which, of course, led to Kaidan swinging his own door open, nodachi raised and looking sleep-fogged, not even having bothered to take off his armor. Amalia couldn't blame him, given the circumstances. She was glad for the low-lighted embers of the dying fire, wincing at the bewildered expression on his face when it dawned on him who the shadow in the room was. 

"We need to go." 

Hesitantly, he lowered his weapon. "Amalia, what--"

"We need to go," she repeated. "Party went a bit sour." 

That was all it took for him to disappear back into his room to grab his pack. The mage limped out of the front of the door, pressing a hand into her back where the arrow sat lodged, coppery stickiness cooling under the touch of the winter air. Mara, she didn't even have the strength to conjure up a mage light to see what she was doing, fumbling around in the darkness until the familiar sound of Kaidan's armor jingled near her, breathing a uneven sigh of relief when he was quick to unstable the horses and press Cinnamon's reins in her hand. 

"Where to?" 

"Ice fields, in the north. Dawnstar. There's a man named Erandur there, who's a priest of Mara."

"_Priest of Mara?_ Amalia, what's going on?" 

Shaking her head, she didn't answer him directly, clicking her horse onto the path. "Just make sure we get to the city, Kai. Tie me to my horse if you have to." 

There were no questions after that, no words to be said. Only the hoof beat noise and labored breathing of great beasts that were too gentle for war, droning on even as the sky strung itself through with ribbons of blue-green and fading into the stark paleness of winter morning, only the fringes of the sky tainted red. 

Red. 

_Blood spilled in the night. _

The wind stung at her face as they rode on, tears that leaked from her eyes fast drying and crackling salt against her skin. 

_Do not think that they did not deserve what you gave them.  
_

The biting cold chilled her bones, crept across her form and wormed its way under her armor.

_The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons. _

The land grew sparse in vegetation, giving way to the snow fields and open tundra that many knew Skyrim for.

_By the Divines, I'm tired. _

Amalia could only lean forward and rest her head as much as she could. Vaguely, she heard her name called, drowned out by the howling of the wind past her ears.

_It's cold. _

The world pitched, tilting violently as she no longer felt the reins in her hands. Whether it was from the cold numbing her fingers or actually losing them, she didn't know.

_The sky. Why does it turn pale in the far north? _

The sliver of logical thought that lay in the back of her mind was screaming, screaming at her to get up, keep going, _keep going, **bo. Kriist vok. Dreh ni dir het. **_

She felt hands then, touching her face, but not really seeing

Her name, called again. Even further away.

Snowberries.

Then blankness.

Empty eyes

empty body

just

empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger! 
> 
> Retail work during the holidays has left me a little frazzled, but Happy Saturalia everyone! 😊
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated, as always


	17. Memories and Magicka

"Your companion is going to be fine."

It didn't feel like it. Kaidan sat back in his seat near the fire, heel tapping furiously into the wood. Why couldn't she just have told him that she was injured? Why did it come to the point that she fell off her horse while it tore across the path and dumped her into a shallow snowbank?

"Aye... She's stubborn, that one. Just wondering about a lot of things, about how it would have been easier just to tell me instead of..." Trailing off, he glanced over at the dark elf sitting across from him, shaking his head. "You said there was poison in the wound? Do y'know what kind?"

"I'm no herbalist, friend. That'd be a question for her, when she comes around."

Erandur nodded once before leaving him there to mull over his questions, his ears prickling as he listened to the commotion in the other room. If he recalled, there were a few of the female miners crowded in there, as well as the alchemist that ran the shop down the road. It seemed she was well known, enough to have the locals flock to help. Well, that is until the alchemist yelled at them to get out so she could finish her work.

It was went the inn finally calmed and those who weren't still working returned to their homes that Kaidan picked himself up from his seat, finding himself leaning against the doorway of the room. He watched the steady rise and fall of his companion's back, a sign that she was alive and well enough not to struggle for breath. Creeping nausea climbed in his throat, making him swallow hard.

_Party went a bit sour._

"No shit," he mumbled.

The bed creaked under his weight, and the flame of the candle at the table flickered with his heavy sigh, throwing light across the two of them, however fragile it was. Amalia's armor was laying in a heaped pile in the corner, the dark silk darker with the stain of blood. An arrowhead, made of sea-green glass, lay on the table as well. Kaidan turned it over in his hands. Gods forbid if the arrow had been barbed... it was already a wicked looking thing, twin points having left a thin line in her skin that'd most likely be a scar, now neatly covered and disinfected with the proper herbs.

His attention wandered back to the mage, absently fiddling with the arrowhead as a distraction to himself. Who had sought to leave her as she was, barely covered from the waist up, copper-gold hair unbound and pushed away to leave room to heal her wounds, was an idiot. The room had no door to speak over, barely shielded from the main room of the inn. At least it was some small miracle that the fire of the hearth was strong enough to keep the building warm. Another was the fact that the arrow hadn't found its mark in her scar.

The light of day was fading fast in the hours of winter, long shadows cast upon the city of Dawnstar that drew the night ever closer. Even in the growing dark, his eyes narrowed at the marring of her skin.

_Impaled, all the way through. She wonders why I hate mages so much, bearing the mark of ice magicka from another._

The arrowhead was abandoned on the nightstand, Kaidan grunting as he shucked his greaves and gauntlets on the floor, fumbling with the straps of his armor to let the heavy chestplate come undone, leaving all of it in a pile next to Amalia's. Damned if he wasn't staying put to keep an eye on her for the sake of his own sanity (and her dignity, he figured), rifling through his bundled pack for a fur that wasn't completely filthy. Assuming it was the Thalmor they were running from, they'd been long left behind, the heavy snows covering their tracks. It left him with enough of a feeling of safeness that he was alright with going without his armor, even if it was just for the night.

On any other occasion, he'd have squeezed the two of them onto the small bed, a refuge from a cold floor and drafting room.

This wasn't that occasion.

Again the bed groaned in protest to a new body, the man sitting at her side to draw the blankets a little higher around her, feather soft touches of fingertips brushing over the skin of her shoulder. Kaidan found another scar there, thin and smooth and short. An old one, then. Amalia really did have a story untold written across her body.

And there it was again, that nagging twist of unsettling nausea finding itself a home in the pit of his stomach.

_How could she have been so careless?_

His question would have to wait. The night grew colder, the sky faded darker, and the man found it harder to keep himself awake until he finally resigned to sleep, leaned against the frame of the bed and head against his arms. 

* * *

_There was a murmur of a voice above him, yet he couldn't move._

_A shadow looming over him, bending down, until he felt the soft press of lips against his forehead. A gentle promise._

_Another beside the first, words spoken but unheard by him, only focused on the face of the first, taking in snowberry eyes and a regretful smile._

_"You'll keep him safe?"_

_"Aye. Raise him as if he were my own."_

_A hesitant pause. "Thank you, Brynjar._"

There was a little tug on his scalp that pulled him away from the comfort of dreaming, the rest of his senses filling in as his mind returned to Nirn, wincing at the feeling of fingers catching a knot in his hair, until bleary eyed he looked up to see Amalia looking sheepish, pulling her hand away. Amalia, who was sitting up and not looking like death was about to greet her with open arms.

Kaidan damn near knocked the two of them off the bed when he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Ow, for fuck sake--" she wheezed, hands coming up to swat at his sides in a vain attempt to stop him from squishing her. It worked, surprisingly, the mage grimacing when he pulled away, moving to straighten the journals she had in her lap. He scooted back to give her a bit of space, clearing his throat.

"It's good to see you awake," he said simply. "Not every day my traveling companion falls off her horse with an arrow in her back."

"Suppose I'm harder to kill than I originally thought, huh?"

"Aye, that's true. How are you holding up?"

"Sore, mostly. Exhausted. I was drifting in and out most of the time Frida was trying to get that arrow removed. Bastard Thalmor had it soaked in magicka poison, so I might be feeling a bit off for a few days."

"Off?"

"Remember the watchtower? I ended up running out of magicka then. Except this time it was taken from me, not used up. It’s a different experience, not unlike losing a physical part of you." Scowling, the mage smoothed her braid back in an attempt to center her thoughts. "But that’s not important right now. _This_ is."

Amalia leaned to pull open the drawer of the little side table near the bed, retrieving a stack of journals and presenting them to Kaidan. A Thalmor dossier, she explained, stolen from the 1st ambassadors office which was now in ruins. That and the other two she held were profiles of Ulfric Stormcloak, and the Blades. More specifically, Delphine and Esbern.Ulfric's dossier was only read over once and disregarded. She had enough time fighting the Stormcloaks previously, Ulfric's rebellion chalked up to the childish temper tantrum of a violent and power hungry man-baby. Some tantrum, considering the lives lost on both sides of the civil war.

She'd read over Delphine and Esbern's dossiers many times over, trying to commit them to memory lest she had to throw them out or burn them to keep evidence from being her downfall. What little information she was able to snag was crucial, a lifeline to fill in the blanks of an unfolding story and muddy past. 

The mage had one other item, tucked beneath her pillow. A letter, hastily folded and slightly stained from being carried under her armor, was extended towards him, an unreadable expression on her face.

_Rulindil,_

_Further information on Akaviri settlements has been sent to the keep for you to review at your leisure. Seeing as how Elenwen is not interested in looking over your theory regarding the Akaviri and the Blades, I was only able to gather a small amount of information on the matter._

_I trust that you keep your research under wraps unless you can gather a greater amount of evidence._

_-Cyrelian_

"I know it's not a lot to go off of, and it seems like a far shot in the dark, but maybe there's more information at this keep. You've said it yourself before, your sword looks a lot like the ones the Blades use. And my research up at High Hrothgar, with dragons coming from Akavir? I really don't think that this is all a coincidence."

"Do y'think we could find it? The keep?"

Amalia shuffled uncomfortably. "We can’t, not yet. The Thalmor aren’t likely to sit on their hands after what happened. We need to get to Esbern before they do, and then... well. I’m not sure, really. Get him to Delphine? She probably thinks he’s long dead..."

"Amai... what did you do? What do you mean 'after what happened'?"

He didn’t miss when she flinched at the question, her answer tumbling around in her head and trying to find the right order of words.

"Uh... well. I may or may not have torn down half of the Embassy. On purpose." She flinched again at his expression, looking very much like he’d received news that the stars were being ripped from the sky. When he didn’t answer, she swallowed the lump in her throat and went on. "I, uh—I used my old magic. From the war."

Kaidan’s expression shifted to mute confusion. "Weren’t you already using your regular spells? Ever since you gave me the amulet, I thought..."

"I can’t, not when we're underground. I'd have collapsed the whole damn crypt."

"And when we're above ground? ... why do you look so nervous?"

"Because it's incredibly destructive and I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you despite the safeguards I've put in place," she blurted. "It's not the type of magicka, it's how it's used. Mine... it's meant to debilitate and destroy large infantries." Shifting her gaze off to the side, the mage dropped her voice into mumble. "I didn't become a Praefect by being sweet to the higher ups."

**_______________________________________________**

"Y'know, when you said we were going to Riften, I was hoping for a scenic walk by the lake, maybe another fistfight or two. This? This is fucking ridiculous." Kaidan dodged a low-laying beam, wrinkling his nose at the pungent odors of the underdark of the lake city. A week after their escape to Dawnstar, the mage and the warrior found themselves picking through the labyrinth of twisted stone corridors and crumbling walls. Esbern was supposedly hiding in the deepest, darkest corner of the Ratway in order to protect himself, and he'd done a well enough job of it that the two of them got turned around and lost more than once. That, and the hordes of Thalmor soldiers that blocked their path slowed them even further.

"Yes, well. I wasn't exactly expecting to be crawling through the pits of Oblivion right now." The mage nudged the rotting corpse of a skeever out of her path, scowling at the stench of it, until they at last came upon a taller cavern, barely illuminated by low burning candles. Amalia cast a mage light that bobbed over her head freely, exhaling heavily as she did so. The magicka poison that she'd been struck with was not entirely out of her system, and she felt the strain it pulled on her body. Kaidan had been keen enough to notice this when they got caught up in a fight, wordlessly picking up the slack and brunt of their enemies force with ease. It didn't help either that she'd burned through the last of her potion vials, and the mage was beyond thankful when he didn't bring it up afterward.

But luck was on their side that day. Amalia was the first to spot the heavy metal door on the back wall.

There was no answer at first, when she knocked on the door. No answer when she tried again, and again for the third time, calling the old man's name in an attempt to get his attention.

"Maybe he's out? That barkeeper did say he does leave occasionally."

Amalia scoffed. "But now, of all times? You would think we might have seen him in the market or something. Now stand back, and cover your ears. I'm going to knock this damn thing off its hinges."

If she couldn't do it with magic, she'd do it with a Shout. Stale air filled her lungs as she inhaled deeply, the words on her tongue and the power settling in her throat when the sliding peephole of the door slide open, a set of angry eyes staring back and a snappish "Go away!" yelled at them before it slammed shut once more. The mage coughed sharply and turned her head away, frustrated and stamping out the Shout that stuck in her chest.

"That could have ended very badly," she muttered, patting dust off her armor. "Esbern? Could you open the door? We're friends."

"What?! No, no, that's not me. I'm not Esbern, I don't know what you're talking about."

Amalia shot a look at Kaidan. If this was the game he was going to play, it was going to take all day to pry him out of his little hole. Sighing, she leaned against the door and tried a different approach. "The Thalmor found you, you know. You need to get out of here."

There was a bark of laughter behind the door, devolving into a fit of coughs. It took a moment for him to answer, the tone of his voice sarcastic and ornery. "Oh! How reassuring. Most likely you're with the Thalmor and this is just a trick to get my to open the door!"

For fuck sake. "There are Thalmor agents searching the Ratway, looking for you, and you're going to be an old fool and stay in here to die?"

Silence, then. Whether or not he was going to answer was something she wasn't waiting on. "Delphine needs your help."

The peephole slid open, the two of them staring each other down for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"To help stop the dragons."

Slammed shut again, Amalia jumped away from the door when the sound of far too many locks on the door began to click and slid open, listening to him mutter behind the heavy metal until finally the door swung open with a low groan, ushering the two of them inside.

For a little hole in the ground, his home was rather cozy. The woman admired the bookshelf that was mostly full tucked away in the corner as the door locked again behind him until Esbern glanced between her and Kaidan, unsure who to address.

"So... Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years. I thought she'd have realised it's hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago..." Trailing off, the old man began to restlessly move about the room, picking up books and putting them back down in what seemed like no particular order. Annoyance began to fray on Amalia's nerves.

"The Thalmor have found you, I keep telling you we need to leave, and you want to reorganize?"

"Yes, yes, so you said," he muttered dismissively. "But so what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I'm quite tired of running."

It was Kaidan's turn to look confused. "Sorry, what do you mean by 'the end is upon us'?"

Esbern dropped his pile of books on the table and gave him a pointed stare. "Haven't you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what's going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things, and the world will end. Nothing can stop him."

Throwing his hands up, the old man turned back to his books, speaking lowly to no one. "Fools! It's all come true... all I could do was watch our doom approach..."

Amalia couldn't help but gape at him. "You're talking about the literal end of the world? Everything ceasing to exist?"

"Oh, yes. It's all been foretold. The end has begun, Alduin has returned. Only a Dragonborn can stop him." He sighed quietly. "But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They've left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater."

The two of them exchanged worried glances.

"About that... I know of the prophecy. I know its words, but I didn't fully understand it. The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn. It's not hopeless, Esbern."

"And now I'm suppose to expect you to say that you're Dragonborn, is that it?"

"Well... yes, actually."

**_______________________________________________**

It took some convincing, and another fight with the Thalmor, before Esbern finally agreed to leave the Ratway and return to Delphine. Amalia asked him once about the importance of her being Dragonborn, only to be shushed and told to wait. His thoughts were still scrambled, and he needed the time on the road to collect himself.

With his permission, the mage had sought to snag a number of books that'd been laying around in Esbern's little hiding spot. What she couldn't have found in the library at High Hrothgar, she was given a little taste of what might be called forbidden history, of subjects that the Greybeards would never even have cared about. It felt strange, having the evidence that there were always multiple sides to a story, but never the means to discover them.

So they traveled west, having let the old Blade borrow Cinnamon for a while while she sat in front of Kaidan in the saddle. Kiai, as gentle as she was, was still a massive mare, more than capable of holding their weight combined. It was a little slower going, but it beat walking on foot across half of Skyrim. They rode in relative silence for a while. It was more out of respect to the old man to let him gather his thoughts than anything else, and a moment for Amalia to unscramble her own brain.

_Last Dragonborn._

_So I am the last._

_Am I to fight to World-Eater? What kind of sick joke are the Divines playing on me?_

The memory of the massive black dragon at Kynesgrove had her head reeling, distressed noises escaping her before she realized what she'd done, startled out of the downward spiral of worry that she was bound to get herself into at the touch of Kaidan's hand at her elbow.

"You alright there? Went a bit pale for a moment, you're not about to pass out, are you?"

"Just a little lightheaded," she mumbled.

"Then let me steer for a while." The reins were slipped from her hands before she could protest, becoming acutely aware of the amount of heat he was putting off, being so close, her back bumping against his chest each time Kiai took an uneven step on the cobblestone. His arms had slipped around her when she hadn't been paying attention, resting against her thighs and effectively caging her in. Not that she was protesting. But the stark hilarity of the situation finally clicked in her mind. The mage pulled herself ramrod straight, determined to keep her space.

She'd not been oblivious to it. The changes in behavior for the both of them. At night, sitting shoulder to shoulder, breaking bread while waiting for a pot of stew to cook over the fire. Catching him staring at her on the road, little glances where they both looked away quickly and politely didn't bother to mention it when they camped for the evening. When Kaidan had waved her farewell while she clattered down the path towards the Embassy, fear and worry evident in his scrunched up face.

When she'd woken up in Dawnstar, to find him asleep against the bed, fingers tangled in hers and looking at peace with the world.

Her breath billowed out in the frigid air when she exhaled heavily.

_What a terrible time to start thinking about this, Amalia._

"You can relax, y'know. I'm not going to bite."

The lie came out smoother than she intended it to. "I can't relax because I've got a dragon as old as creation slated against me. How in Oblivion am I suppose to be calm about that?"

"It's not a guaranteed thing. There might be another dragonborn out there who's suppose to fulfill the prophecy instead."

Amalia made a disbelieving noise. "Yes, and how likely is that going to be? Esbern is a Blades archivist, and no other dragonborn has been known."

"It's also been less than half a year since this all started, and with all due respect..." Kaidan dropped his voice, leaning closer to her ear. "The man's been hiding down in the Ratway for gods knows how long, hiding from the Thalmor for some thirty odd years now. Y'think he might be a bit off his nut?"

Had it? She ticked back mentally to when she'd found him in that sinking prison, sometime in the middle of Last Seed but drawing closer to Harvest's End. The second half of his comment had her frowning.

"He's been on the run, yes, but it's been for a good reason. Let's at least wait until we get back to Riverwood before we start making assumptions on whether or not he's a crazy old man. I get this gut feeling that everything is going to get much worse."

He didn't respond then. It was better to sit in silence than it was to try and make conversation that might turn sour. Her only decision was to pull her cloak a little tighter around herself to stave off the cold, and considering they still had more time they she was pleased with on their journey and even less pleased with taking the mountain pass that'd put them by Helgen, it was going to be a long night. The sun was alright beginning its slow dip into the horizon, cutting their options to hunkering down in a thrown together camp for a night with no fire, or pressing onward until they reached the little village.

It wasn't a decision she wanted to make. She was tired of making the decisions, and still tired from the lingering poison in her veins. Arms tightened on either side of her before it registered in her brain that she was cozier than she was before, having settled against his chest and folded her hands into her lap.

If she could forget who she was for a little while, would she be alright with this?

True, she knew Kaidan as he was now, but every time she tried digging a little deeper into his past, he froze and stumbled through a half-hearted explanation before shutting down the question entirely. Part of her wanted to grab him by the front of his armor and shake him until he relented about the truth. The other part of her knew that was a completely idiotic idea, that they needed to trust each other in other to know one another.

And when it came down to base needs... well. She had the priestess' in Markarth take care of that. She'd be alright, at least for a little while.

But it wasn't fair to want to know the whole truth about him when she'd kept her own secrets.

Amalia glanced at her folded hands, dutifully hidden from the cold by thick gloves. If she took them off, there'd be an indent in her ring finger of her right hand. A reminder she didn't want, sitting on a gold chain in the bottom of her pack. She couldn't help but chuckle to herself quietly, trying to make light of the shitty situation. A ring, a scar, and a bad memory walk into a bar...

And the whole traumatic shebang joined them when they finally get kicked out.

_Fucking Oblivion sake, bastard brain. What a time to bring this up. Can I not have more than a week of peace before you start reminding me of everything that's gone wrong in my life?_

Of course not. She could only watch as the sun dipped lower to the rim of the sky and hoped for once that someone else would make the decision instead of her.

**_______________________________________________**

It was bittersweet, the old Blades uniting. To know they were some of the last of their organization. "Made it, safe and sound." Delphine had said. Amalia could really only watch from a distance and shake her head. They weren't really safe, now that the Thalmor had a renewed taste for her blood. And moments later, the four of them found themselves crowded in the secret room under the inn floor. 

The Breton was the first to pipe up. "I assume you know about...?"

"Oh yes! Dragonborn! Indeed, yes. This changes everything, of course. There's no time to lose. We must locate... let me show you, I know I had it here, somewhere..." Trailing off, the old man dumped the contents of his pack on the table, rifling through the books in search of something that the rest of them had no clue of. 

"Esbern, what..." 

"Give me... just a moment..." An old looking tome was slammed on the table with a heavy thud, and he looked triumphant having found it. "Here it is. Come, let me show you. You see, right here?" The cover was flipped open, showing a style of map that Amalia had never seen before. "Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim." 

"Do either of you know what he's talking about?" 

Kaidan could only shrug, Amalia snickering when she was hushed by Esbern. 

"This is where they built Alduin's Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin's Wall at the time--one of the wonders of the ancient world--its location was lost."

The mage shuffled from side to side, impatiently. "I'm going to speak plainly. None of us are understanding what you're trying to get at right now, and if the Wall has information on how to defeat Alduin, then great. If it's got information on stopping dragons, then why are we still standing here?" 

"Alduin's Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. The location was never lost, you see? Just forgotten, but I've found it again. And there's no guarantee that it will have all the information we seek, of course." 

_Of course it wouldn't_. "So where are we going to find it then?"

"Karthspire, west in the Markarth hold. We should go, quickly. Time is of the essence--"

"The Wall can wait a few days," the mage snapped. "Seeing as how the details haven't really been filled in yet, the Thalmor know nothing about the dragons, I got shot with a magicka poisoned arrow and I'm still not fully recovered, had to get dragged the second half of my trip to Dawnstar to pull the damned arrow out, and then left not two days later to come find you. We need food, we need supplies, and we need to be able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time."

Esbern looked as if she'd struck him before settling into a sheepish understanding, and even Delphine raised her eyebrows at the news of the Thalmor and her tone. Kaidan wouldn't have admitted it openly, but he was also in desperate need of a bed for once. 

It took far more debating than was necessary to decide when they were to leave for the Karthspire, eventually settling on regrouping at Old Hroldan in a week's time. With the decision made, Amalia left the two Blades to catch up and settled on traveling a few extra miles to Whiterun. The Bannered Mare seemed like the wiser option at this point. 

So tired companions on tired horses picked their way down the path towards the central city. They'd stopped the previous night to camp a few hours, hiding out in a cave that gave them a least some break from the wind but shivering still at the lack of the fire that would've chased away the chill in their bones. So it drew closer to the evening now, the stars of the sky beginning to fade in, chased by a ribbon of aurora that banded blue and green across the night. 

"You've been quiet, Kai." 

"Aye." 

The sharp ring of a coin being flipped sounded in the silence between them, the warrior having looked over to find Amalia presenting a coin to him. "Septim for your thoughts, then?" 

That got him to chuckle, catching the coin easily when she tossed it to him. "Alright, fair trade. All of this is a little hard to take in, y'know? I know you found out a little bit about it when you were in High Hrothgar, but to have it confirmed by an old historian--" 

"Archivist," she corrected.

"--archivist, it seems a little surreal that the end of the world is upon us. Who would have known?" 

"Alduin's Wall, apparently, and an old man who's been living in the sewers." 

* * *

They'd arrived early enough at the inn that many of patrons weren't there, or simply not paying enough attention to heed them when they came through the front doors, disheveled and weary and looking like they'd been run through the mill a few times. Amalia was quick to secure them the main bedroom for the duration of their stay, along with meals and a bath for evening.

She'd tipped Saadia well for drawing so much water for the baths, considering she'd scrubbed down far longer than she needed and sent Kaidan to do the same thing. 

Neither of them had the energy or the patience to bump shoulders with the growing crowd downstairs, fairing for taking their dinner in the little loft that overlooked the rest of the tavern, allowing them to see the front door and eavesdrop on the people below them. It didn't surprise him when he found Amalia with her legs tucked up in the chair, her personal journal in her lap and a sharp bit of charcoal in hand, already scribbling across the page and paying him no mind when he sat in the chair next to her. 

He didn't mind these quiet moments, the break in the chaos for what he could pretend was a normal life. She'd already changed into night clothes, the legs of her trousers only coming up mid-calf and sleeveless tunic showing off a myriad of scars across her upper arms. 

"Those are from when I still wore robes. Got nicked a bunch of times from someone getting too close, but the healers were able to just close those up and send me on my way." Not looking up from her journal, she blew the dust from the page and turned it, starting her writing anew. "You suck at being subtle."

Kaidan reached for his ale, chuckling. "Am I really that bad at it?" 

"The worst." But her voice didn't hold any malice, just amusement. 

They liked the routine, when they could get it. Ale, dinner, and sleep in a tavern was extraordinarily luxurious when you were on the run from Thalmor and dragons. So half concealed in their nook they ate in silence comfortably, Amalia having put her journal away in favor of people watching. 

It was curious the way people dished out gossip like it was bread to starving men. She figured life in the city was interesting where it could be, but folks were always looking for more, looking for something that would cause an uproar for a little while and spread through the city like a wildfire would through dry grass. A group of guards had found their way inside the tavern, off duty and looking for drink after a long day of taking care of whatever rabble happened in the city. Amalia watched and listened to Hulda take orders and pour drinks, chattering to herself and anyone who would listen. 

"Did you hear about what happened at the Thalmor Embassy? Apparently one of the guest went somewhere they weren't suppose to, and it caused quite a bit of ruckus. Curious to know who it was."

"Really? I heard it was a little more than a ruckus. There was a shouting match between one of the jarls and another guest." 

"No, no, you got it all wrong. A guest went and broke into the 1st ambassador's office, Ewin, or Elawin, something like that." 

"... killed a guard to get to some documents that were laying around..."

"... was actually a spy from the Stormcloaks who went in and destroyed a bunch of things..." 

"... heard they went nuts and killed a whole group of Thalmor soldiers..."

"... destroyed half of the Embassy in one go..."

"... slaughtered everyone on their path..." 

"Oh shit," the mage said flatly. "News really travels fast around here, doesn't it?" 

Kaidan choked on his ale. 

"... leveled the whole place, left no one alive!..."

"... you idiot, if no one got out alive, then why are we hearing about it?..."

"You really tore down half of the Embassy? Shor's balls woman, I thought you were exaggerating about that."

Amalia raised her eyebrows at him. "Why on Nirn would I try to make that bigger deal than it already was?"

He would have responded, had another bit of gossip not reached his ears, and she was quick to catch on too. 

It was someone that neither of them recognized, and she'd been through Whiterun plenty of times, enough to know the people here. It must of been a traveler or wanderer of some sort, engross in the story they were telling to an enraptured crowd. 

"... and I saw her, hair flying and hands charged with deadly lightning, facing down the dragon with her companion, the Dragonborn. And him? I've never seen anyone quite like him, wielding a sword of black metal, eyes are red as burning coals. He doesn't look like a Nord, or any other race I've seen, more like a half-breed of a mer or Breton. But it was magnificent, seeing the dragon fall from the sky when he pulled his bow out and shot the thing down. Now, I didn't want them to mistake me for a looter, so I got out of there quick as can be and headed off toward Riften to tell the news of what I saw." 

"Did he Shout?" It was Mila, Carlotta's little girl who had a habit of playfully tapping the mage's knees when she ran by. 

"I didn't hear him Shout, no. I don't know if he was tired from the battle, or had already Shouted before I wandered upon the fight, I'll never know."

"What did the mage look like?" 

"Oh, pretty lass she was, young as a summer doe, but spitting mad as hellfire when she fought, with hair as shimmery as the brightest polished Dwemer metal." 

_"Oh shit."_ Her panic was a little more urgent this time, sinking into the seat to hide as if everyone in the tavern would suddenly look up and see her. 

Kaidan? Kaidan was having a fucking field day with the gossip. "Summer doe, huh? Maybe that'll be my new nickname for you."

"Don't," she hissed. "Don't. I will murder you if you ever call me that. Kai, this is serious! They think you're Dragonborn!" 

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Might turn the Thalmor on their heads for a bit, trying to figure out who's who." 

"I Shouted. At the Saturalia party. I had my face covered and my hair back, but I'm pretty sure they put two and two together, since I disappeared from the party and I wasn't exactly hiding my face then. Oh, and my _name_. Mara's mercy, they know my full name." Putting her face in her hands, she groaned lowly. When was her life ever suppose to go back to being this dangerous? 

"Why is that such a big deal? Can't you just an alias from now on?"

"_Because I was a soldier_. Despite the fact that I was discharged, the Thalmor are technically 'allied' with the Empire, and can access information on me very easily, and since I raised in rank a few times, more people know me for who I am. And to add to that, it's not really much of a secret that I turned to healing work across Skyrim. A lot of people know my face and name." 

"But you've not told anyone the details about your past, have you?"

Ah. No, she hadn't. At most, she was either too busy with her work for idle chatter, or kept to herself and minimally answered the questions that tried prying into her life. So even if the Thalmor did somehow manage to get anything out of the people she'd worked with, it didn't seem like enough to connect all the dots with. So shook her head and fell into silence, letting her eyes scan over the crowd and trying to fend off the growing pit of anxiety that'd taken root inside her chest. 

_By Akatosh, why me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one was longer than usual, and that's alright. I typically don't pull dialog straight from the game unless I feel it's important, and a lot of Esbern's commentary feels pretty important to me. 
> 
> Also featured in this chapter is a memory from both Kaidan and Amalia, good and bad respectively. And we're getting closer to learning more about his past. :) 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated as always. 
> 
> (ps, writing drunk does help, just edit while sober)


	18. Alduin's Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize now that some of the wording is a bit wonky, so I’ll fix that when I have some free time this afternoon.

Kaidan woke before the sun did, on routine every morning as he always had since he was a child. Through the slats of the roof, the dawn was beginning to stain the barest of rosy pinks, slow moving in the sun's ascent into the sky. Whether or not he'd fall asleep again wasn't something he could entirely control, and it seemed that this was the morning that he'd drift in and out of his dream-state, weightless in his own mind and yet still vaguely aware of what was around him. 

He felt her stir beside him on the bed, as always politely sticking to her side when the space allowed it, rolling on her back and her breathing returning to the normality of deepness in sleep. 

Again, a short time later, she shifted under the blankets until she groaned, groggy and still mostly asleep, sitting up to swing her feet over the side of the bed. Had he been quick enough, he would have snagged her hand so that she stayed close by. The creeping chill of a fresh overnight snow leaked through the thin roof of the inn, the fire downstairs that'd been staving it off having long since died. 

So he listened, teetering on the brink of the unconscious, still as a fox as she shuffled about in the dark for far long that seemed necessary, the new sound of soft boots padding across the floor catching his ears instead. 

The gentle creak and whine of the door pulling open and shut again was what brought him out of that plane of dreaming. It was lighter outside now, but only barely so, and hour or more of time left before the sun truly rose. Any other time he might have ignored the fact of her slipping away, but he couldn't. Not this time. Kaidan had never ignored a gut feeling, and he certainly wasn't going to stop now. 

So minutes later her found himself taking the same careful steps down the stairs, following her path out the front doors of the Bannered Mare and into the market. it wasn't hard from there, really. The powdery dust that'd built up in the night marked where she'd gone, following those footprints to the shrine of Talos that lay untouched in the city center. 

She sat near the alter itself, her attention faced toward the sapling that sat in the middle of the pavilion, long having lost its buds to the chill of winter, yet very much alive and well. A half eaten sweetroll lay on her lap, the frosting on her fingers and clear indication of her early morning treat. 

The half that wasn't eaten was offered to him when he took a seat next to her. In exchange, Kaidan draped a heavy fur over her shoulders, moving himself closer to her side for the shared warmth. 

The silence was amicable between them, and other than themselves and the sleepy guard making laps around the district, there was no other movement to be found nearby. 

It was easy to image that they lived a normal life together, as normal as adventuring could get. 

Amalia was the first to break the silence. "It was beautiful once, the Gildergreen. A shame when it was struck by lightning, but I think the sapling is doing nicely." 

"And I expect you to tell me that you were the one who brought the sapling back?"

She looked sheepish instead of answering, and he shook his head chuckling. 

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"This feels like a familiar question. I have my limits, to be very fair. But how could I have passed up an opportunity to see the Eldergleam grove?" 

"Do y'think we can go there when everything calms down? I've never had the chance to explore it, as many times as I've passed by the area." 

She made a noise of affirmation, letting her gaze drift back to the wind-bare sapling. He stared at it too for a while, the lightening sky making the frosted branches shine and shimmer. He wouldn't have payed any attention to something like this, months ago. He'd have been in bed with some tavern girl to keep him warm in the night, or heading to the keep to find his next contract to take care of. 

But his purpose now was to protect her. He was her ally, and she his. 

"I'm worried, Kaidan." A smoky cloud of breath escaped her with a tired sigh. "About this whole... Alduin thing. I'm relieved that we were able to find Esbern before the Thalmor did, and even with the possibility of finding the Wall, there's always a chance that no one will know what to do next, or that it doesn't have the answer we need. What if, despite our searching and our effort, I ultimately fail?" 

"You won't. I have faith in you, even if you don't have it in yourself. Considering all that's happened in the last few months? You've done pretty damn good considering the odds. Besides, if Alduin's Wall doesn't tell us how to defeat him, then there are plenty of other places to look. You're not limited to just Skyrim, y'know. I could take you to a few places that have pretty expansive libraries and research there. It's not just one option." 

"Alduin might have to wait a little longer if we're going off on a big, long scholar's journey just to figure out what'll bring him down." Amalia nudged his side, the corner of her mouth turning up into a smile. "And it sounds like you're wanting to take me on a tour of the world, is that it? I think I'd like that, if it were with you."

He would have never admitted it, but the thought of bringing her along to share in the wonders that he'd seen in his travels had his heart soaring. Despite the bad things, despite the wandering, there was still good in the world, things worthy of sharing with his companion. There were not many Nords who had the desire to explore, choosing instead to stick to once place and eke out a living no matter the hardships. 

So he smiled too, throwing his arm around her in a one-sided hug, chuckling quietly as he did so. 

And despite the end of the world, he was glad to stay by her side. 

As any day might've done, the sun rose on the city of Whiterun, and they separated and went about their duties for the day, remembering their responsibilities and returning to the reality of never really being done.

He took care of the more physical tasks: selling off their extra spoils to Belethor, whom Amalia heavily disliked with a quote of "never wanting to deal with the greasy little weasel in that second-hand shop", having his sword and the little hand axe she used to chop wood when they camped sharpened, and armor inspected and repaired as needed. 

She'd gone off to do the more delicate and detail-oriented tasks: restocking her own supplies of magicka and health potions, as well as a few other was wouldn't hurt to carry around, and having Arcadia boil them down into concentrates small enough to fit into little vials that she neatly lined up on her belt, and going out to secure food and ingredients for the road that weren't likely to spoil easily. Then it was finally formally introducing herself to the housecarl Lydia, profusely apologizing and giving a half-assed explanation of how and why she'd disappeared for nearly five months with no warning. Lydia, more than anything, just seemed relieved that her thane was alive and well, the two of them easily falling into a steady conversations about everyday news of the city. 

Kaidan found Amalia stretched out on the bed, face down, shortly after noon rolled around. 

"You alright there?" 

Her voice, though muffled, sounded annoyed. "I'm gonna buy Breezehome, so I can sleep on a fluffy bed instead of hay every night." 

"Uh. Any other reasoning beside comfort?" 

She turned her head just enough to peer at him. "Whiterun is the central city in Skyrim, of course. If we're passing by, it'll be good to have a place that we don't have to pay for a room, or worry about our stuff being stolen from us. And, I can have the housecarl look after it, leave her with gold every time we stop by so it's stocked with food and whatever else we need."

"What of your cabin in Falkreath?" 

"It's still my home. This'll just be a second home, inside the city walls." 

"Suppose you've made up your mind then, eh? Well, you know how I feel about the city and it's defenses. But if it'll make you happy, I won't argue about it." He took a seat next to her, reaching for his bow that sat nearby. Restringing his bow was one of the things he'd rather do himself, knowing the heavy responsibility of having it done right. 

"How'd your talk go with Lydia, anyway? You were up in Dragonsreach for a while." 

The mage paused, considering her words. "Well. Jarl Balgruuf knows I was at the Thalmor party. I'd seen Avenicci there, but I hadn't really considered that he might be an issue with rumor getting out. Bloody gossipy Imperials..." 

"Was the jarl angry with you?"

"Didn't seem that way. Ended up going to the war-table to talk, away from prying eyes and ears, and had me fill in the details of what's been going on in the months I've been away. I think he's more interested in keeping up with the outside world that selling me out for protection in the war. And no, don't worry, I didn't tell him about the Blades, or about going to find Alduin's Wall. I kept that intentionally vague as a security." 

"So he knows about...?"

"The very possible, literal end of the world? Aye, he does. Surprisingly calm about it too. I'm not convinced he believes me yet."

The old bowstring was discarded, Kaidan's bow propped against his knee and the new string pulled taunt across each notch, creaking loudly in protest. Amalia watched the ebony settle back into its natural curve, and the thought of having a weapon in her hand lead to her next thought. 

"You should teach me to fight," she said plainly. "There's going to be a day I won't be able to rely on only magic, and I'd at least like to have a chance to defend myself." 

Some part of him wanted to protest, to tell her that she had him as her sword and shield. At least, until the rational part of his brain reminded him that she was alone at the Embassy, that there was always a chance they'd be separated in a fight, overburdened by enemies, too focused on their targets to know they'd been drawn away from each other until it was far too late. Or, gods forbid, he was killed in battle and she was out of magicka. Dragon Shouts could only be used so often, and he'd seen her tire herself out until her voice was raw and sore, despite the curing effects of a healing spell and a potion. 

"Would you mind if we started after we've found Alduin's Wall? That way we can find you a proper sword, or whatever weapon you prefer." 

She sat up, wide eyed and grinning like a mad cat, wholly unable to keep the excitement out of her voice. "So that's a yes?" 

"Aye, I suppose it is." 

* * *

Night fell faster over the plains of Whiterun than anyone had expected, the overcast clouds promising another night of snow falling heavier than it had before. Where folks hadn't turned into their homes for the night, they wandered into the Bannered Mare for drinks and gossip. Amalia had gone to the temple under the premise of visiting Danica after all that'd happened, and getting a once over from the priestess to see if she was able to properly heal the muscles in the mage's back. 

As she disappeared around the corner, Kaidan had his sights set on another task, his attention turning towards Jorrvaskr and the bright light of the Sky Forge just behind the mead hall. 

He'd had his fair share of companions, both men and women to keep him company on the road. But it was always short lived, the task completed or the other killed, but it was usually the latter. His armor had saved his hide time and time again, passed on to him by Brynjar shortly after his death, the thick metal having protected him from arrow and blade alike. There was a few close calls where a weapon nearly met his neck, his own instinct and years of training making up for the lack of a helm. The armor never had a matching helmet that he knew of, and Kaidan wasn't particularly at a loss for it. He'd tried for a while to wear one, but in turn got slowed down by the limited vision he had, and the idea was quickly abandoned when he was slammed into from the side by a skooma-high bandit with no sense. 

So his feet carried him up the stairs to the legendary forge, the heat of the coals chasing the chill of the air away into nothing. Eorlund was there, even as the sky was dark and muddy, tools in hand and repairing the dents in the breastplate of ebony armor that lay on his workbench. Amalia's, then. The rest of the pieces had been carefully laid out, the silk undercoat soaking in a tub of frigid water to erase the stain of blood. 

"I have a request, if you've got the time to hear it." 

Without looking up from his work, the Grey-Mane grunted an acknowledgement, and he took that as a sign to continue. 

"An ebony buckler, to go with that armor you're working on. And another request, for later. Something you can take your time on." The pack that'd he been carrying was slung off his shoulder and handed over, the old smith flipping it open to peer inside when he finally did pull himself away from the craft. "You can take the measurements from that armor." 

"Been wanting to work with this material for a while, actually. Where'd you get this from?" 

"My travels. I'll leave it at that." 

Eorlund nodded once, setting the pack aside and turning to face Kaidan, fixating a pale gaze on him. "Your... companion is a mage, isn't she? An Imperial solider war-mage, from the looks of the sash. I'm not going to pretend to like Imperials for the sake of it, but I'll tell you now she made a fine choice in armor, and I can guarantee you it's not standard issue. She's left that life behind, is that it?"

"'s not my place to tell, to be honest." 

The old man hummed to himself, only partly satisfied with the answer. "I'll make that armor, for half fee. This won't be enough material to cover it, so if you happen to come across more, send it along with a courier. I'll make use of it."

* * * 

The vaguely ethereal chiming inside the temple was comforting when he stepped inside, his eyes landing on the copper-haired mage kneeling in front of the altar. It wasn't an unusual sight, to see her praying. She often stepped away for a moment of privacy when they were out on the road camping, a passing murmur of thanks or asking for guidance and fair weather while they traveled. He wasn't particularly religious himself, but when the time and occasion called for it, he found himself bowing his head and praying for protection where he could get it. 

It wasn't very often that he was able to sneak up on her. So when she didn't react to him sitting down next to her, Kaidan took his chance in observing her in the pale light, uncaring this time if she caught hims staring. And it seemed that this time she was either too deep in her thoughts to notice him or simply didn't pay him any mind at all. 

He had his fill, letting his eyes roam over the smattering of individual freckles across her face, imagining little lines connecting each of them to create a constellation of stars across her features. She'd left her hair unbound for the day, hastily managed and messy ringlets left to sweep across her back until she decided to find time to deal with it later on, and every part of him wanted to reach out and snag a copper-gold strand for himself. 

And he swore every time she sighed, he'd prayed to Dibella to thank her, unable to keep himself from staring at the curve of her mouth and wondering just what he had to do to get her smile, among... other things. What on Nirn did he have to do to make it any more obvious to him openly flirting with her? She was either very, very good at playing it off or incredibly unaffected and unassuming to what was going on. 

He had to assume it was the latter. 

It was funny, thinking about it again. Seeing her in the water, imagining she was a shield-maiden of the warriors of old to take him to Sovngarde. Nearly half a year had passed since she'd rescued him from the prison, and time and time again had they protected each other in battle. And he found himself trusting her, sharing a little more each day about his past. But, then there were things that he didn't need to mention. That she didn't need to know about. It was better if it stayed that way. 

Kaidan turned his attention to the shrine of the goddess of the sky. It'd been an incredible stroke of luck, to have met Amalia in such a strange way. And to have a purpose instead of wandering from place to place was a blessing in itself, being able to focus on their tasks inside of being stuck under the curse of free-will, condemned to live a life of aimless misdirection. 

Her voiced piping up next to him shook him out of his thoughts. 

"Didn't think you'd join me here. Something on your mind?" 

"Ah, not really. Just thought I'd come in and check on you, since you have a reputation of getting in trouble now. How are you holding up?" 

The mage shrugged, shifting herself to sit crosslegged on the floor. "Danica yelled at me, and then yelled at me some more after I told her what happened. Well, it was more like a stern scolding, but that doesn't really matter, does it? She took a look at the arrow wound and said it healed well, but that I'm going to be sore there for a little while. I've been given the _highly recommended _suggestion of stretching every night to help alleviate that. And by suggestion--"

"If you don't do it, she'll yell at you some more?" 

"Aye. Suppose it'll be some entertainment for you though, watching me trying to contort myself up in knots, eh?" 

That was a mental image and a half, imaging her trying to fold herself backwards. In his mind, it looked more painful than it did humorous. 

"Though... I can't say that I'm ungrateful for it, having someone correcting me from time to time. I'm still young, by some standards. Having old wisdom helps." Amalia shook her head. "I came in to get a once over to make sure I'm alright, and here I find myself praying to Kynareth, asking her to yell at her husband on my behalf." 

"Yell at Akatosh? Why would she do that?"

"For the possibility that I've to physically fight Alduin, first born of the king of the Divines. And then there's me, blood of Akatosh, voice of Kyne, soul of a dragon, body of a fragile mortal. A _god,_ Kaidan. I'm up against a Nordic god. It's fucking _terrifying._"

* * *

The mage and the warrior left Whiterun two days later, rested and resupplied to the best of their ability, the deed to Breezehome tucked into her journal and hidden away on her pack, and the promise that the house would be fully furnished and upgraded by the time she got back. Amalia had left the artifacts she'd picked up with Lydia in her care, but the smooth black stone she'd found still lay tucked away in the bottom of her pack. For whatever reason, she couldn't bear to part with it for just how strange it was. 

She was surprised when Kaidan had handed her an ebony buckler when their armor had been returned to them, the simplest explanation being the fact that it was something she should get use to holding on a regular basis. If she wanted to use a sword, it was best to have a shield as well. 

Not only that, she was in a pleasantly good mood their entire trip to Old Hroldan. The whole trip was about three days time, and despite the fact that a mild snowstorm slowed them down to the point they had to stop and camp for a few hours, they made considerably good time. 

Getting to the Karthspire was pretty easy. Getting past the Forsworn wasn't much harder. 

She was quick to push them inside the nearby cave when she Shouted down a storm, the shrieking and pained cries of the Reachmen dying off one by one as lightning struck down around them, the fires that'd erupted from the strikes being drowned out by the deluge of rain that threatened to flood the river nearby from the sheer amount of water being dropped from the sky. And of all things, Delphine and Esbern merely looked at her as if she'd pulled a neat trick involving a rabbit and a hat, the Breton muttering something about having a Shout like that be useful when they first fought together in Kynesgrove. 

But that moment of fanciful want passed, the old archivist drawing them deeper into the cave until the cavern opened up and stonework lined the walls, Esbern in starstruck awe for their surrounding architecture. Both she and Delphine had to keep him on track more than once. 

Getting to the temple was easy enough, considering the traps and puzzles that lay in their way. It hardly seemed that turning pillar puzzle, a set of drawbridges, a room of pressure plates would be good enough security for an ancient Akaviri stronghold, but when the tiny hallway they were filing through opened to the main entry of the Temple, Amalia squashed the thought of being at risk to an ambush. 

It was eerie, the massive carved face of Reman Cyrodiil staring back at her in a permanent scowl. Her head titled curiously at the sight of it, fleeting thoughts of being related by blood running through her mind. At least, until Esbern began his rambling about the peculiar seal that was seated into the ground. 

A bloodseal, he called it. 

Kaidan stood next to her as they both peered at it, deaf to the old man's rambling behind them. 

"Could I borrow your skinning knife?" 

He handed it off to her wordlessly, watching the mage pull her glove off and pressing the blade of the knife into her hand. 

At least, until nothing was done. She hesitated, the sharp edge digging into her skin, but not nearly enough pressure put behind the action to open a wound. His hands came up to support hers, one wrapped around the hilt of knife and the other pressing a thumb into the center of her palm to rub soothing circles in her skin. 

"Do y'want me to do it?" He said lowly. Amalia nodded once, quickly, hissing and jerking her hand back when he sliced the metal across the skin under her little finger. But his grip on her didn't relent, and they both watched as heavy drops of crimson splattered to the seal below. 

A growled 'son-of-a-bitch' was low on her breath, a minor healing spell cast to close up the marred skin and stepping back to let the seal do its work. "Of all the things, they choose something that causes harm to me to open a door?" She muttered. "Bloody Akaviri and their 'lost arts'."

Centuries old, forgotten from the world for so long that there are nothing but whispers of the legends it once was. Alduin's Wall stood intact, untouched, for all this time. Secrets to be known recorded in carved stone and ancient prophecy. The reality of it was hitting harder than she anticipated. 

Well, at least someone besides Esbern was having fun with this. Kaidan found her leaning against the end of the table, faced away from the cumulative years of story written behind her, the awe of standing inside a place of history written all over his face. 

"As I live and breath... we're actually standing inside an Akaviri Temple! We should at least take a little time to explore it, found out if there's anything that's been left behind... you feeling alright there, Amai?" 

"I'm getting this gut feeling that it's going to get every bit more complicated than it's already been. But, go. Feel free to look around. I just need to minute to collect myself before I listen to what Esbern has to say about the Wall."

"Do y'want to be left alone?" 

_Not really, no._

She shook her head, and that was enough for him to lean against the stone table with her, to be content instead with listening to Esbern prattle on somewhere behind them. 

Even that was short lived. 

* * * 

"Isn't is amazing?" 

"I won't lie, thousands of years of history condensed into a stone wall is pretty impressive."

"Yes, yes! Precisely. Now, where were we... Ah. See here how the panel is divided into three sections? The first one here shows Alduin and the Dragon Cult that ruled over Skyrim. Here the humans rebel against their dragon overlords--the legendary Dragon War."

The image of burning homes and cities and people with fists raised in defiance, lashing out at dragons that flew overhead. Legend indeed, told to children to scare them before bed, about the evils of dragons and a warning to their prideful nature. 

"Alduin's defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. Here he is, falling from the sky, the Nord Tongues--masters of the Voice--arrayed against him." 

Her patience and good mood had thinned a long while ago, unable to keep the annoyance from dripping into her voice. "And does that tell us how he was defeated?"

"In good time, my dear. Look, this is the Akaviri symbol for 'Shout', but... there's no way to know what Shout is meant." 

"And the last panel?" 

"Ah, yes. That shows the prophecy that brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of the Dragonborn. See, here are the Akaviri--the Blades--you see their distinctive longswords? And they kneel, their ancient mission fulfilled, as the Last Dragonborn contends with Alduin at the end of time. Ah, but I know the prophecy by heart. All Blades knew it, once. 

_ "W_ _hen_ _ misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world--"_

_"When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped,_

_ "When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles,_

_ "When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls,_

_ "When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding,_

_ "The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."_

Esbern didn't look annoyed when Amalia interrupted him, finishing the prophecy by heart. There were many nights she looked it over, trying to work out the riddle in its entirety. 

"That's right, yes. How do you know of the prophecy so fluently?" 

She sighed. This wasn't something she wanted to get into, to argue about. Especially not with Delphine around. "I stayed up at High Hrothgar for over two months to learn what I could about being a Dragonborn, trying to cross-reference major events that have occurred so I could more clearly understand it. But some of it I don't understand, because there were no relevant texts relating to it." 

"I could explain, if you'd like?" 

"The clarity would be nice." 

And so he did. Five events of the world that foreshadowed Alduin's return, carved in stone long before they even were meant to be. The Staff of Chaos, shattered and spread to eight different areas of the world.

The Brass Tower, Numidium. A strange happening, where time warped and twisted despite the choices of those seeking to control it, leading to the Warp in the West, a time where time was unraveled, a paradox of chaos that allowed for all outcomes of the control to happen at once. Then the Dragon Break, leading to the reshifting of reality and time-space that wavered the fabric of Aetherius, that ultimately lead to the activation of Numidium. 

Then, it was the disaster at Red Mountain. The Red Tower. The failure of the Dunmer gods, Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil, brought to power by the Heart of Lorkhan, doomed to fail when the Heart was destroyed by the Nerevarine. 

The Oblivion Crisis. 200 years ago, Martin Septim losing his throne in exchange for saving the world, destroying the Amulet of Kings in the process. With his death came the death of the Dragonborn Emperors of Tamriel. 

The White Tower, still fresh in history books, the fall of the White-Gold Tower in the siege of the Imperial City. 

And now the death of King Torygg. The rift in the mountain depicted on the Wall, a symbol as to how Skyrim was tearing itself apart in the Civil War. 

"The Wheel of Fate, turned on the Last Dragonborn. It's funny, how prophecy is. Half a year ago I was a traveling healer." She threw her arms out, motioning to the dark hall. "Look where that's gotten me. Taken to an old temple with the last members of a dying organization, and damn near nothing to show for it but a history lesson. A Shout, needed to defeat Alduin, but which? There are dozens of them, and I barely even know half." 

When she was met with deafening silence, Amalia turned on her heel. All of this effort, all of this time, wasted. For what? An old stone wall, carved by men long dead, and coming out empty handed. The heavy door of the temple swung shut behind her, shutting her out and resonating that sickness she felt earlier, the gut feeling of everything going terribly, terribly sideways. 

Because who was she but a young woman with little purpose besides the Prophecy of a kingdom long gone? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I didn't actually mean for this to because an ongoing story with developing characters and delving deeper into the plot line and expanding on both Amalia's and Kaidan's past. What it was really suppose to be was a 10 chapter story with copious amounts of smut, but here we are. We're still getting to the smut part. I guess you could call it a really slow burn and a lot of friendship to lover fluff, but folks like that stuff, yea? 
> 
> And honestly, if anyone's got a suggestion, anything they want to see in the story, let me know. I'll see about working it in. 
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated as always, and thank you everyone for your support 💕


	19. Long Nights & Dull Aches

Somehow, Breezehome was more comfortable than she originally anticipated. Not to mention the fact that Lydia didn't question the list of accommodations that'd she'd requested, spectacularly pleased at the amount of cushions and furs she found in the upstairs bedroom, and made good use of the gold she'd left behind. 

It was nice, being able to relax without an immediate task looming over her head. 

Granted, she did storm out of Sky Haven Temple in a bit of a fit, but someway, somehow, Kaidan had managed to convince her to come back inside and explore what they could. She was glad for that too, having discovered a small alcove lined with bookshelves. Not exactly a library, but Amalia and Esbern shared the same exact excitement when they found a solid majority of the books untouched by age. And, despite the old man's grumbling, she'd picked out a few books of her own to take with her, sitting neatly at the bottom of her pack. 

Kaidan was the one who found the sword, in the little room that was meant to be an armory. The mage ran her fingers along the back of the blade, watching the metal shine with some enchantment she was unfamiliar with, but it was wrapped in leather and secured to take with them anyway. If anything, she'd find herself an enchanter to take a look at it, since she lacked that skill altogether. But it sat in a display case now, set aside for a later time while they unwound and tried figuring out what to do next. 

Since the answer didn't lie in the temple, the next logical course was the travel to the College of Winterhold. 

Only, it was the middle of winter. 

And there were still Word Walls to be found. 

And damned if her scar didn't ache every time she wandered outside. 

"You think the Greybeards would know anything about this Shout?" 

Amalia pinched the bridge of her nose. "They might know _something_, but I'd really rather them not find out that I've been working with the Blades. Besides, I'm worried they'll just tell me they same thing we've already thought of: going to the College for answers." The two of them sat in a little study that occupied the half of the upper floor that wasn't the bedroom, Kaidan having found himself a spot at a little side table and flipping through some of the books she'd pilfered from the little library. She had the second half of that stack, and by now her head was swimming at the amount of information and translation she was having to do. The old Blades used archaic language, but that was to be expected, considering the age of the temple. 

What she didn't expect was having to hand-translate more text than anticipated. 

It was a little while yet before he spoke up again, to set the book down next to her and point out a passage. It was a history book, from the looks of it, describing the first accounts of Tongues and dragonslayers alike. 

"Here, I thought this might interest you. This caught my eye, talking about methods of fighting dragons. Apparently there were a number of Shouts that were particularly good at bringing them down, but this passage talks about physically tearing them from the skies." 

_"...In times of battle with any type of dragon, it's best to utilize Shouts and weapons based on attack motive and abilities. However, one Shout in particular causes a dragon to fall from the sky with its effects, to be rendered helpless for a short amount of time. This Shout, combined with physical or magic attacks, is the most effective and fastest way to kill a dragon."_

"Never that easy," she muttered. "Even the name of the Shout would have been useful. It's not mentioned anywhere else in here?" 

"No, unfortunately. The rest of it just seems to be general history."

_Of course it is. _

The book she had in front of her was discarded, pushing her chair back as she stood. "This obviously isn't working, hunching over dusty old tomes and hoping the answer comes to us. The Shout we need could be on a Word Wall, and we're sitting here doing close to nothing." 

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You want to start traveling again? We just returned to the city yesterday, I thought you would have at least liked to restock supplies and rest while we figured out where to go next." 

"I _have_ figured that out. We'll pick up where we left off with finding Shouts, and circle west to east until we make it to the College." 

"If you're that eager to go, wouldn't it be helpful to blow off some steam first?" 

* * * 

When Kaidan had agreed to teach her how to fight with a sword, she was expecting to at least have light sparring, to see how she did and work from there.

No, instead she stood in the middle of the training yard behind the mead hall of the Companions, sweat pouring down her back despite the chill of the afternoon, growing ever more annoyed when he barked at her to fix her stance when she slipped out of place. Her muscles were screaming in protest, that much was clear. The tip of her practice sword wavered in her shaking grasp, the mage shuffling her feet just barely to alleviate the tension that'd coiled in her calves. 

_An hour_, he'd had her holding this one stance, circling around her, correcting her posture with a casualness that infuriated her. She wanted to fight! Not to stand around until the bones in her knees creaked when she swayed. 

But it was unrelenting, and she kept her mouth shut. 

"Stance and posture are the foundation of fighting. Did you think I'd throw you into combat right away?" 

Her side-eyed glare was enough of an answer. 

Kaidan shook his head. "You learn how to hold a position so that your body falls into it naturally during a fight. There've been plenty of good people who have died because they were knocked off balance, or their sword wasn't in the right place in the right time. But, you seem you be doing well..." 

Relief flooded her at the prospect of being able to relax, the grip on her sword slackening. 

"You shouldn't mind holding that position for a little while longer, right?" 

Amalia felt her face heat, whipping her head to stare him down and nostrils flaring. And he stared back, the most shit eating, smug grin plastered across his face. 

"I swear to all the Divines," she hissed. "That I'm going to set you on fire when this is over."

Nonetheless she pulled her spine straight again, adjusting her hold on the buckler and mentally cursing him for the agony that was coursing through her limbs. 

Companions came and went through the yard at their leisure. At one point, two of the younger members came out to watch her training (if you could call it that) and she could have sworn they were making comments just out of earshot. Kaidan must have noticed her rising irritation, and called her name. 

"Oi, focus on me. You were a soldier once, you should know how to block out your surroundings."

"How am I suppose to focus when I'm standing still as a stone?" She snapped. "There's nothing to focus _on_, I'm not fighting anyone."

He was the one who didn't answer this time, instead walking to where she couldn't see him. It was infuriating enough to stand stock still for what felt like nothing, and even more so when she felt herself being watched. But those seconds ticked into minutes, shoulders shaking from the strain of her fixed position, the wooden blade feeling more like an ebony warhammer, the buckler heavy as a stone. 

Minute after minute after minute. 

It dawned on her just how much her body was screaming at her to give up, to drop the sword and shield and stick with her magic. She smothered those thoughts quickly to focus her gaze on the stone wall in front of her. 

The aches dulled into a background humming. 

Her eyes tracked a dragonfly that was flitting around in the dry grasses, hearing the low buzz of its wings, the shuffle of the wind through tree tops and branches. She heard the fire of the brazier crackling with embers, the harsh scent of woodsmoke tickling her nose and burning her throat. Felt the distinct rise and fall of her chest, the thrum of her heart in her ears. He'd insisted that she go without armor for the first few times, and she never thought she'd be so glad to be lacking it in this moment, knowing the sturdy breastplate would only have made her that much more irritable. 

_Focus on what's around you. _

She hadn't needed to focus when she acted as a war-mage on the front lines. Her magicka wasn't meant to be subtle. 

She did focus as a scout in her early days, but never fighting. A dagger was carried on her belt, but never used, barely even taken out of the scabbard until it was lost one day. 

The world, piece by piece, was beginning to fall away. 

It felt like a lifetime ago, slipping away from her childhood home, to leave her siblings and parents behind to fight in a war that wasn't really her concern. She remembered the helplessness she felt at the news of the Civil War, how she quaked in her muddied boots at Castle Dour, a Legate drilling her with question after question. Too young looking, they'd told her, when her tongue tripped over the lie about her age. She had only just turned 17 months prior, and damned if she wasn't going to at least try. 

She remembered her first fight, after they'd gotten her outfitted in armor and sent off. Well. She remembered what remained of a fight. A fresh scout, her feet padding silent on the ground as she waded through the bodies of her companions and enemies alike, checking to see who was still alive along the masses. 

She remembered grasping the hand of a young Imperial, no older than her, blood and spittle flecked on his chin as he bled out on the ground, the metal plating of his armor crushed in by a warhammer, the jagged pieces digging into his heart and lungs, until he smiled at her. The way he smiled, at ease, to know that someone, somehow, was at least there to witness his passing. She remembered the way his eyes turned glassy, when his grip slacked and fell from her own. 

She didn't learn his name.

She remembered watching new recruits, barely two years later, picking out the ones who had a shred of magical talent to train them the best she could before she them back out to their deaths. They never had a proper teacher, the Empire stretched too thin to supply an experienced war-mage to show them the ropes. That, or they died in the Great War. It was hard to tell if anyone actually cared. 

Amalia's body jarred when her knee slammed into cobble, knocking her back into reality as buckler and sword clattered to the ground, off balance and barely managing to catch herself to slip off to one side. 

She half expected him to haul her up by her shirt, to tell her to keep going until she blacked out and wasn't able to move any longer. 

She'd seen that happen before, in the camps. Legates that were too hard on their soldiers, pushing them to exhausting limits.

Instead, she felt hands steady her on either side, gripping her shoulders with a little shake, before she felt herself being lifted and deposited on the nearest bench. Her tongue felt like cotton in her mouth, fire racing down her spine at the attempt to stretch and alleviate the discomfort. Of course, that didn't work. The mage groaned into her hands when she leaned against her knees.

"You lasted longer than I thought you would."

"Your idea of training is to torture me?"

"It's not torture," he protested. "That was meant to test your endurance."

"Fuck your endurance test," she said grouchily. "My knee hurts now. And basically everything else." Pausing, Amalia lifted her head to glare at him half-heartedly. "How long did I last anyway?"

"'bout two hours. C'mon then, I'll buy you a round of drinks. You deserve it after that."

* * *

Reclined in her chair, Amalia nursed a cold mug of ale against her stomach, feet propped up on the table and comfortably stretched out. She was already three drinks in, the warmth of alcohol effectively washing over her and easing a majority of the aches, humming a little tune to keep her mind occupied.

The two of them had taken up the corner table of the inn before the nightly rush of patrons, table cleared and map of Word Walls spread between them. It was easy enough to spot their path, a majority of the marked spots crossed out in the Rift and in Falkreath. There were a few that they couldn't find, despite their best efforts, but she was convinced they couldn't be so far off. But time their path lay further north, starting near the city of Markarth. 

"Ragnvald is the first location we should be going to, then to Dragontooth Crater. Judging by the name, it'd be safe to assume there's going to be a dragon there." 

Sitting up, Amalia peered at the map through squinted eyes. Her finger traced a path from those two, further up to the cluster of three. "Deepwood Redoubt and Hag's End are both Forsworn territory, so we have to be careful. Volskyyge isn't much farther off, but I'm fairly certain it's a Nordic ruin. I don't particularly want to venture that much further into Thalmor territory, so we get those three, rest at Dragon Bridge for a night or two, and then head east from there. Though, there's one in the swamps that's closer to Solitude, so I'm not sure what the best way to get to it would be..."

They fell into the logistics of finding the rest of the Word Walls, the mage frowning at the realization of how little they seemed to have found so far. Of course a vast majority of them would be hidden in snow covered mountains. It was going to take _months _for them to get to all of them, if they didn't have any interruptions. 

Surely Alduin wouldn't mind having to wait a little while longer. After all, what is a few months to an immortal being?

But even as that conversation dwindled after their plans were set out, Amalia was leaned back in her seat again, nursing yet again another ale and groaning to herself. 

"Y'know, I would almost think tiring me out and getting me drunk is a fun activity for you." 

Kaidan raised his eyebrows, not answering. 

She was well into her cups, rambling on despite his silence. "Making me stand out in the cold for two hours to hold a position to test my endurance. Well, there are plenty of ways to wear me out and see just how good my stamina is." 

"Aye? And what would those ways be?" 

Amalia was so, so very close to answering him before the more logical part of her brain came back to life in a panic, shutting down the thought before the words formed on her tongue. She snapped her mouth shut and regarded him with the barest of a smile, face heating at the fact that she nearly blurted out the want for more... physical activities.

"That, my friend, is none of your damn business." 

Kaidan snorted at her. "Then how else am I suppose to wear you out? Considering how much you like to talk--" 

The mage chucked a half loaf of bread at him, snickering when he just barely dodged it hitting him square in the face. But with the break in conversation, he diverted to a different subject, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"So, why a priest of Mara in Dawnstar?"

"Erandur? That's a long story."

"Humour me." 

"Fine, fine. Alright. Back when I first started working with Danica, she had me running sleeping drafts up to to Dawnstar for the people there. A lot of the townsfolk were suffering from nightmares, and... well. I just wanted to help. Without going into a lot of detail... I met Erandur, and I helped put a stop to the nightmares." 

"Put a stop to it? How do you manage to stop nightmares effecting an entire city?" 

"Oh, we had to stop Vaermina from drawing power off her staff." 

The nonchalant way she blurted that out was astonishing, leaving him to wonder if he'd really heard her correctly. 

"Sorry, Vaermina? The daedric prince?"

"Mhm?"

"And Erandur knew about this how?" 

She tapped her nails against her mug, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "Ah, Erandur was a priest of Vaermina a long time ago, but he gave that up and became a priest of Mara to atone for what he'd done. I was upset, obviously, that he'd not just told me in the first place, but I understood his hesitation in telling me. I might not have ever bothered to help if I knew what he really was. Or, at least what his past was."

Kaidan damn near dropped his own cup. But she didn't catch it, her attention turned away to some spot on the floorboards above her, entirely missing the pained look that passed over his face before he squashed whatever emotion was going on inside his brain, settling back into a mask of neutrality. He raised what remained of his ale to his face and drained the rest, abruptly setting it down and rising from his seat. 

Amalia was confused when he tossed gold on the table to pay his tab, rolling up their map and making a beeline to the front door without her. She scrambled upright as well (and with difficulty, seeing as how the room spun around her), slamming her own coins on the table and stumbling after him into the night's chill. 

"Wait!" 

She had to jog to catch up with him, strained muscles and alcohol in her system making her pitch sideways into the vegetable stand, and she hissed when the hard wood knocked the air from her lungs. 

The bastard hadn't even looked back. 

Her voice wheezed when she called out to him again. 

_"Kaidan!"_

And damned if the falling snow didn't make it any worse. 

At least calling his name gave him enough of a pause that she was able to right herself and limp towards him. 

"I don't--What in Oblivion is going on? Have I said something wrong?"

She slipped again, her feet skidding from under her and all sense of balance abandoned, gravity and momentum threatening all the more painful of a fall. 

That is, until she jerked to a stop. Kaidan had shot his hand out to catch her by the wrist, hauling her upright just enough that she still had to dig her heels into the cobblestone, but it still wasn't enough to catch her footing. The mage realized with a start that he was holding her far too hard, the bones in her arm bruising under his grip unrelenting. A full head taller than she, it wasn't difficult to keep her just barely off the ground.

And she couldn't stop the pained whine from escaping her, the fuzz of alcohol gone from her mind and voice on the edge of pleading. "Kaidan, _Kaidan_, please let go you're hurting me!"

"You'd trust someone who followed a daedric prince?" 

"I'm dangling in the air, and you want to have this conversation? For fuck sake, _put me down_." 

He didn't. He dropped her without warning, taking a step back to regard her with a dark look. Amalia drew her wrist against her chest, the faint chime of a healing spell echoing loud in the night air. 

"Just answer the question," he snapped. 

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" She countered. "Erandur was trying to change his life, and he did, and you're upset because of who he used to be?" 

"People don't change, Amai! What if he found out that you were Dragonborn and decided to kill you for it?" 

The mage gaped at him, thoroughly baffled. "Fucking _what? _Have you gone completely mad?" 

"Why do you choose to trust people that have done horrible things?" 

Amalia flinched. 

He'd never yelled at her before, not like this. And she found herself unable to move, struck with the fear of him lashing out in a more physical way, still as a deer on the plains. 

And gods above, he wasn't blind to that. His ally, his _friend_, shrinking herself down to the ground to make herself a smaller target. He was the one that caused it. 

Divines forgive him for turning his back to her and escaping out the front gates of the city. 

"You smell like a tavern floor." 

Two days. 

Two days he'd disappeared to whoever fucking knows, no supplies, no furs, in the middle of winter in the middle of the night. 

Two days, her ire had grown into a silent rage, her expression stony as she regarded the swordsman in front of her. 

He was leaned over in his seat, greasy hair hanging in his face and dark circles under his eyes, reeking of alcohol and old sweat. To him, this was much, much worse than when he'd come to her to apologize for his behavior in the temple all those months ago. And so badly she want to strike out at him, to make him understand just how awful his behavior was. 

Her arms stayed firmly crossed. 

"I know." Kaidan's voice was quiet. She hoped that was regret she heard from him. 

"You took the map as well. No work was accomplished when you decided to disappear, so I go stuck reading over the history of the Blades. Again." 

"I know."

"Where did you even run off to?"

"Honningbrew."

Amalia snorted. "Of course. A meadery. And I suppose they kicked you out when you ran out of coin, is that it?"

"Aye." 

"And this? What in Oblivion were you thinking with this?" The sickening blue and purple of a fresh bruise wrapped around her wrist. A spell could only do so much when unfocused, to at least ease the pain but not erase the mark. She left the discoloration as a reminder of his actions, presenting her arm to him where he couldn't ignore it. "Why on Nirn did you decide that nearly crushing my bones would be okay? And then leaving me on the cold ground?" 

The crackle of the fire in the hearth was a substitute for his answer. 

"Arkay's breath..." she mumbled. "Go take a damned bath."

* * * 

Lydia had pressed them to take extra provisions for their trip, taking it upon herself to send them off with extra bags of food and furs for the long nights, well stocked and supplied in the case they weren't able to make it to a town within a reasonable period of time. The housecarl had been left with a reasonable amount of gold to treat herself with, considering they'd be gone for another number of months based on their own estimates. 

The mage tightened the strap on Cinnamon's saddle a little harder than necessary. Kaidan was not at all oblivious to the icy demeanor she'd shut herself off with, barely communicating with him the past few days and looking at him even less.

_You're an idiot. Clam up and act like a complete ass over someone you barely know, just because of their past? Fucking hypocrite you are, you sorry bastard. _

He hadn't meant to slip back into old habits when he wandered into the meadery. One drink became two, two became four, and four devolved into a night of binge drinking until he nearly forgot what his name was. The owners, at least, were kind enough not to put him out on the first night in the snow. They'd at least waited until he sobered enough in the morning to do that. 

The logical half of his mind was pleading at him to say something, to at least utter an apology that wasn't half-assed, while the other (admittedly stupider) half of him was swearing him to silence, to let his companion stew in her own anger and smugly convince him that he had no reason to apologise. 

Kaidan opened his mouth, apology on the tip of his tongue when Amalia mounted her horse, slinging the reins into her lap and clicking him forward without so much as a glance back. Was she so fed up with his behavior that'd she'd leave him behind in the snow? 

Damned if she could rid of him that easily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breezehome, in this case, is modded. It's the "Breezehome Fully Upgradable" by Sku11M0nky on Nexus. With tweaks, of course.
> 
> Also this chapter is shorter than I intended because my work pushed me into overtime for two weeks in a row so I feel like I'm dying. ‾\\_(ツ)_/‾
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated like always, I promise I'm not trying to string y'all along.


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